Shots
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: On the same continuity as Class Action. With Batman out of commission and Penguins' litigation in full swing, Deadshot is paroled under dubious circumstances. Meanwhile, at Arkham Asylum, things between the Joker and Harleen Quinzel are starting to heat up.
1. Chapter 1

Shots

1: December

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec. 15: _

_Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, I finally got my opportunity to prove my thesis regarding Jack Napier, aka the Joker. For review, in my original thesis, I put forth the proposition that Mr. Napier is not, in fact, insane. My theory is that he is faking in order to evade a proper trial and the inevitable incarceration that he would face. To understand the validity of this theory, one needs only to observe his behavior closely to notice clear signs of lucidity and even conscience. _

_My first meeting with Jack was considerably less than stellar. He was generally unresponsive to any of my attempts to converse with him in any meaningful manner. Rather, he spent the entire session flirting with me. While flattering, this actually serves to add validity to my theory; clearly he was being evasive in order maintain his cover." _

"We are rolling in three, two..."

Vicky Vale stood just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary, about to cover what would possibly be the biggest story since Killer Croc escaped from Arkham Asylum last month. The fact that nobody has seen nor heard from the Batman since then only serves to amplify the importance of what is happening today, and thank God Knox is nowhere in sight. He was too busy with the Class Action suit that Oswald Cobblepot initiated almost immediately after Croc was recaptured. If she did this right, she might be able to scoop him on that, too.

"Good afternoon, Gotham!" Vicky greeted into the camera as soon as the cameraman gave her the signal. "This is Vicky Vale with channel 6 news. At this very moment, I am standing just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary where an unexpected turn of events has taken place and Floyd Lawton, also known as the notorious gunman Deadshot, has been granted Parole. Why this is unexpected is because initial reports indicated that his application for Parole was expected to be denied, but for reasons that are not yet clear, that decision was suddenly overturned and his Parole was granted."

A camera flash caught her eye. Being a professional and on camera live herself; she did not blink. Neither did she frown when she saw the source of the flash; it was Alexander Knox and his slippery photographer. They made it to the show after all.

"Standing here with me is Sergeant Janine Toussaint of the Gotham PD," Vicky continued. "Sergeant, what can you say to the people of Gotham about this unlikely turn of events?"

"Only that it was unexpected, and that the Police will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Lawton." Toussaint replied.

"Is that to say, then, that Commissioner Gordon disagrees with this decision?" Vicky asked. In her mind, this was a rhetorical question that needed to be asked. It was well documented that James Gordon played a key role along with Batman in the capture of Deadshot; much like Toussaint did in the recapture of Killer Croc one month ago.

"He has his doubts that Mr. Lawton is suitable to be allowed back into society, yes."

"The question the people of Gotham really want answered, Sergeant," Knox barged in, "is how did this happen; is this in any way connected to the Mob?"

"What we do know," Toussaint responded, "is that attorney Harold Dustman appeared late in Mr. Lawton's hearing to represent him, and shortly after that Parole was granted."

"What about the fact that Dustman is known to have a client list that includes the likes of the Falcone family and Oswald Cobblepot in addition to Deadshot?" Knox pressed. "Is there any speculation that either of them is in any way related to the decision to grant this known assassin Parole? Do the Police know if either of them is planning on hiring him? And if so, to what end, and how do the Police intend to keep the people of Gotham safe now that the Batman has gone into hiding, clearly to avoid being arrested?"

"No comment." Toussaint said plainly. She wanted desperately to tear one off of Knox, but she knew she couldn't do that. Gordon's Police Force doesn't do that. While it was true that Cobblepot had gained enough support in his Class Action suit to put the screws to Gordon to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Dark Knight, scumbags like Knox spun the matter so far sideways it wasn't even worth tabloid coverage, let alone news. Batman wasn't hiding; he was recovering after the beating he took last month. She wasn't even back to 100%, and he got it ten times as bad as she did.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Here he comes!"

All attention turned away from the Sergeant and towards the activity inside the gate as they started to slowly open. On the other side, Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, was being escorted out of Gotham Penitentiary by two armed guards, and was accompanied by Harold Dustman, Attorney at Law.

Vicky Vale nudged her way towards the pair as they exited the gate, making certain that Alexander Knox was well and far behind her.

"Mr. Lawton!" she called out. "Do you have anything to say now that you are a free man?"

Floyd stopped, turned, and smiled at the camera with a casual shrug. "What can I say?" he replied, "I guess there really is a Santa Claus," he paused with a wink, "Merry Christmas, everybody."

With that, at Dustman's urging, they pressed on towards a car waiting for them on the street. Dustman opened rear passenger door and let his client in.

"Hey, Deadshot," Knox called from a distance, tape recorder held high overhead. "What do you have to say about the speculation that you were set free as part of a fee for a big hit?"

"My client has no further comments at this time, thank you!" Dustman called back, closing the passenger door. Without another word he then opened the passenger front door of the car, and let himself in. Before anybody else could get a coherent question out, the car drove away.

Inside the car, Floyd couldn't help but chuckle.

Harold glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't very smart, you know," he said. "I thought I told you to say nothing to the press or anyone until we got into the car."

Floyd scoffed. "Relax." He said. "I wouldn't have given anything up. Besides, making smartass remarks like that is kind of my trademark."

"Exactly my point, Floyd," Dustman retorted. "You are supposed to be rehabilitated; a changed man who has learned his lesson."

"Whatever," Floyd dismissed the admonishment. "So where are we going now, anyway?"

Dustman grinned. "I want you to meet somebody."

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 21:_

_I'm finally making some progress with Jack. Today he opened up a little bit and started talking about his childhood. He claimed that his father was an abusive drunk with a severe gambling problem, which led first to the death of his mother and then his father at the hands of the Falcone family; specifically one of their goons named Cyrus Gold. I take note that Cyrus Gold was a notorious criminal long ago. Just how old is Jack, anyway? _

_His narrative also included accounts of abusive language towards himself and his mother, as well as numerous severe beatings in their crappy apartment in the poor district. I can relate to that, which is why it was really quite the trick for me not to fall into his attempts to trick me into making our conversation about me. I should add here that Jack is obviously a very intelligent man, and that I get the sense that any post secondary education he may have is likely based on scholarships rather than being able to afford enrollment. Again, this is something I can identify with. _

_Somehow it must have gotten out that I too have no parents or siblings, because at the end of our session, Jack invited me to join him Christmas Eve for dinner. As this showed signs of compassion which adds even more validity to my theory, I accepted, on the condition that it was clear to him that this dinner was not a date. He readily agreed." _

Alvarez ushered the sniper into a back service entrance to the Estate once he was certain nobody had eyes on them. He closed the door quietly and led the sniper up a set of stairs and down a hallway which led to a small apartment within the Estate on the Hill. At the door of the apartment, Alvarez stopped the sniper and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Lt. Brian Dustman on the other side. Brian nodded at Alvarez, looked the sniper over, and nodded in approval before letting them in.

Inside, the sniper recognized Brian right away, and of course he knew Alvarez. The room they were in was a small front room that served as an office; there was a desk directly in front of him, and behind the desk was a man whose facial features could not be made due to the positioning of the lighting in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" the man behind the desk asked. He had a slight southern twang to his voice, which the sniper immediately recognized; he'd heard it before.

"Yes, sir." He replied politely.

The man cleared his throat. As if this was a signal, Brian started to reach into his coat for his sidearm.

"Let's try that again." The man said. "Do you know who I am?"

The sniper caught on this time. "No sir, I do not." He said. "I've never seen your face."

"That's better." The man said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I only know what I need to know."

"I like that." The man said, impressed. From his desk he pulled up a sheet, which he handed to Brian, who was standing beside him. "Go on," the man said to Brian. "Hand the gentleman that last piece of information he needs."

Brian Dustman stepped across the office and handed the sniper the paper. The sniper took it and saw that it was a photograph. The sniper smiled.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, sir, I do." The sniper said.

"Do you know how to find him?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"That man is your target." The man behind the desk explained. "You will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir."

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 25:_

_Merry Christmas! I have to admit, dinner with Jack last night was fantastic! I had no idea the cooks at Arkham could put together such a fabulous spread! Jack was surprisingly charming and disarming, and even wore a Santa hat the whole time. To his credit, he went out of his way to make sure it was not a date. While somewhat adolescent, his calling it 'not a date' all night long was really quite an entertaining gag which never quite got old. He really does have quite the sense of humor; he even shared in the laughter when he spilled the Christmas pudding in his own lap. He made light of it by saying 'just call me pudding from now on!' How we both laughed long and loud at that. _

_I think I'm starting to win him over."_


	2. Chapter 2

Shots

1: December

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec. 15: _

_Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, I finally got my opportunity to prove my thesis regarding Jack Napier, aka the Joker. For review, in my original thesis, I put forth the proposition that Mr. Napier is not, in fact, insane. My theory is that he is faking in order to evade a proper trial and the inevitable incarceration that he would face. To understand the validity of this theory, one needs only to observe his behavior closely to notice clear signs of lucidity and even conscience. _

_My first meeting with Jack was considerably less than stellar. He was generally unresponsive to any of my attempts to converse with him in any meaningful manner. Rather, he spent the entire session flirting with me. While flattering, this actually serves to add validity to my theory; clearly he was being evasive in order maintain his cover." _

"We are rolling in three, two..."

Vicky Vale stood just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary, about to cover what would possibly be the biggest story since Killer Croc escaped from Arkham Asylum last month. The fact that nobody has seen nor heard from the Batman since then only serves to amplify the importance of what is happening today, and thank God Knox is nowhere in sight. He was too busy with the Class Action suit that Oswald Cobblepot initiated almost immediately after Croc was recaptured. If she did this right, she might be able to scoop him on that, too.

"Good afternoon, Gotham!" Vicky greeted into the camera as soon as the cameraman gave her the signal. "This is Vicky Vale with channel 6 news. At this very moment, I am standing just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary where an unexpected turn of events has taken place and Floyd Lawton, also known as the notorious gunman Deadshot, has been granted Parole. Why this is unexpected is because initial reports indicated that his application for Parole was expected to be denied, but for reasons that are not yet clear, that decision was suddenly overturned and his Parole was granted."

A camera flash caught her eye. Being a professional and on camera live herself; she did not blink. Neither did she frown when she saw the source of the flash; it was Alexander Knox and his slippery photographer. They made it to the show after all.

"Standing here with me is Sergeant Janine Toussaint of the Gotham PD," Vicky continued. "Sergeant, what can you say to the people of Gotham about this unlikely turn of events?"

"Only that it was unexpected, and that the Police will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Lawton." Toussaint replied.

"Is that to say, then, that Commissioner Gordon disagrees with this decision?" Vicky asked. In her mind, this was a rhetorical question that needed to be asked. It was well documented that James Gordon played a key role along with Batman in the capture of Deadshot; much like Toussaint did in the recapture of Killer Croc one month ago.

"He has his doubts that Mr. Lawton is suitable to be allowed back into society, yes."

"The question the people of Gotham really want answered, Sergeant," Knox barged in, "is how did this happen; is this in any way connected to the Mob?"

"What we do know," Toussaint responded, "is that attorney Harold Dustman appeared late in Mr. Lawton's hearing to represent him, and shortly after that Parole was granted."

"What about the fact that Dustman is known to have a client list that includes the likes of the Falcone family and Oswald Cobblepot in addition to Deadshot?" Knox pressed. "Is there any speculation that either of them is in any way related to the decision to grant this known assassin Parole? Do the Police know if either of them is planning on hiring him? And if so, to what end, and how do the Police intend to keep the people of Gotham safe now that the Batman has gone into hiding, clearly to avoid being arrested?"

"No comment." Toussaint said plainly. She wanted desperately to tear one off of Knox, but she knew she couldn't do that. Gordon's Police Force doesn't do that. While it was true that Cobblepot had gained enough support in his Class Action suit to put the screws to Gordon to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Dark Knight, scumbags like Knox spun the matter so far sideways it wasn't even worth tabloid coverage, let alone news. Batman wasn't hiding; he was recovering after the beating he took last month. She wasn't even back to 100%, and he got it ten times as bad as she did.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Here he comes!"

All attention turned away from the Sergeant and towards the activity inside the gate as they started to slowly open. On the other side, Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, was being escorted out of Gotham Penitentiary by two armed guards, and was accompanied by Harold Dustman, Attorney at Law.

Vicky Vale nudged her way towards the pair as they exited the gate, making certain that Alexander Knox was well and far behind her.

"Mr. Lawton!" she called out. "Do you have anything to say now that you are a free man?"

Floyd stopped, turned, and smiled at the camera with a casual shrug. "What can I say?" he replied, "I guess there really is a Santa Claus," he paused with a wink, "Merry Christmas, everybody."

With that, at Dustman's urging, they pressed on towards a car waiting for them on the street. Dustman opened rear passenger door and let his client in.

"Hey, Deadshot," Knox called from a distance, tape recorder held high overhead. "What do you have to say about the speculation that you were set free as part of a fee for a big hit?"

"My client has no further comments at this time, thank you!" Dustman called back, closing the passenger door. Without another word he then opened the passenger front door of the car, and let himself in. Before anybody else could get a coherent question out, the car drove away.

Inside the car, Floyd couldn't help but chuckle.

Harold glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't very smart, you know," he said. "I thought I told you to say nothing to the press or anyone until we got into the car."

Floyd scoffed. "Relax." He said. "I wouldn't have given anything up. Besides, making smartass remarks like that is kind of my trademark."

"Exactly my point, Floyd," Dustman retorted. "You are supposed to be rehabilitated; a changed man who has learned his lesson."

"Whatever," Floyd dismissed the admonishment. "So where are we going now, anyway?"

Dustman grinned. "I want you to meet somebody."

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 21:_

_I'm finally making some progress with Jack. Today he opened up a little bit and started talking about his childhood. He claimed that his father was an abusive drunk with a severe gambling problem, which led first to the death of his mother and then his father at the hands of the Falcone family; specifically one of their goons named Cyrus Gold. I take note that Cyrus Gold was a notorious criminal long ago. Just how old is Jack, anyway? _

_His narrative also included accounts of abusive language towards himself and his mother, as well as numerous severe beatings in their crappy apartment in the poor district. I can relate to that, which is why it was really quite the trick for me not to fall into his attempts to trick me into making our conversation about me. I should add here that Jack is obviously a very intelligent man, and that I get the sense that any post secondary education he may have is likely based on scholarships rather than being able to afford enrollment. Again, this is something I can identify with. _

_Somehow it must have gotten out that I too have no parents or siblings, because at the end of our session, Jack invited me to join him Christmas Eve for dinner. As this showed signs of compassion which adds even more validity to my theory, I accepted, on the condition that it was clear to him that this dinner was not a date. He readily agreed." _

Alvarez ushered the sniper into a back service entrance to the Estate once he was certain nobody had eyes on them. He closed the door quietly and led the sniper up a set of stairs and down a hallway which led to a small apartment within the Estate on the Hill. At the door of the apartment, Alvarez stopped the sniper and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Lt. Brian Dustman on the other side. Brian nodded at Alvarez, looked the sniper over, and nodded in approval before letting them in.

Inside, the sniper recognized Brian right away, and of course he knew Alvarez. The room they were in was a small front room that served as an office; there was a desk directly in front of him, and behind the desk was a man whose facial features could not be made due to the positioning of the lighting in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" the man behind the desk asked. He had a slight southern twang to his voice, which the sniper immediately recognized; he'd heard it before.

"Yes, sir." He replied politely.

The man cleared his throat. As if this was a signal, Brian started to reach into his coat for his sidearm.

"Let's try that again." The man said. "Do you know who I am?"

The sniper caught on this time. "No sir, I do not." He said. "I've never seen your face."

"That's better." The man said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I only know what I need to know."

"I like that." The man said, impressed. From his desk he pulled up a sheet, which he handed to Brian, who was standing beside him. "Go on," the man said to Brian. "Hand the gentleman that last piece of information he needs."

Brian Dustman stepped across the office and handed the sniper the paper. The sniper took it and saw that it was a photograph. The sniper smiled.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, sir, I do." The sniper said.

"Do you know how to find him?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"That man is your target." The man behind the desk explained. "You will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir."

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 25:_

_Merry Christmas! I have to admit, dinner with Jack last night was fantastic! I had no idea the cooks at Arkham could put together such a fabulous spread! Jack was surprisingly charming and disarming, and even wore a Santa hat the whole time. To his credit, he went out of his way to make sure it was not a date. While somewhat adolescent, his calling it 'not a date' all night long was really quite an entertaining gag which never quite got old. He really does have quite the sense of humor; he even shared in the laughter when he spilled the Christmas pudding in his own lap. He made light of it by saying 'just call me pudding from now on!' How we both laughed long and loud at that. _

_I think I'm starting to win him over."_

2: January

The conference room fell silent the moment Oswald Cobblepot stepped in. Just seconds before, two of three men inside were bickering – albeit behind a translucent veil of polite hostility – over a combination of cultural differences and on ongoing dispute over gambling territories. The third man sat back and let the other two have at it; observing with only the most fleeting of interest.

In truth, before the Penguin made his appearance, there were a total five men and one woman in the room; each of the men had brought one bodyguard, as was permitted for this meeting. Cobblepot, accompanied by Bruno, made up a sum total of eight in the room. Before he spoke, Oswald did a quick scan of the room visually to account for who was present and where they situated themselves; taking specific note that all of them made a point of being sure they had their backs neither to the door nor to the large window.

First, there was Frank Falcone of the Falcone Family. Nothing needed to be said about him; he was, apart from Penguin himself, the true veteran of the business. His family had been at it for several generations before he was even born. Frank was born, bred, and trained all his life to carry on the Family tradition. His escort was Tony; his son and heir apparent. In appearance, he was very much a younger version of dear old dad, though it was no secret to anyone in the room that Tony was the finest fruit from the Falcone family tree. Perhaps Frank was hoping he could teach the poor boy something today.

Next was Himura Akio; by no means an upstart, but recent transplant from Japan to take over Japan town after the recent death Himura Anjin. Little beyond that was known about him. His escort was the woman, who was very thoroughly covered so as to not be clearly identified. It was Akio and Frank who were bickering. Apparently, some of Akio's advances had stepped on Frank's toes somehow. As he had hoped, his litigation against the Bat had put a cork in that dispute; at least for now, as both parties were quick to join in on the Class Action suit.

None were as quick to join as the third man; who was most commonly known as Black Mask. Since this was Penguin's chief rival of late, some may have been surprised at his cooperation so far. Cobblepot was not. Mask's hatred for Batman was so intense it could be played upon; anything that might hurt the Bat, Black Mask was likely to want to be part of it. The real question was; could he be trusted? The answer was; of course not! Part of the reason he was invited was to be able to watch him closely and see what his next move would be. Mask had brought with him one of his goons; the one with the tattoos.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" Penguin greeted. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Get to the point, Bird-man," Black Mask said sharply. "And this better be good."

"Hey, shut up, freak!" Tony blurted out. Before he could say anything more, Frank raised a hand to silence his son.

"I apologize on behalf of my son," he said in calm, measured tones. "Etiquette has never been a strong point for him. What Tony is trying to say, Mask, is that if you insist on interrupting our host, it will only take him that much longer to get to the point, as you so eloquently put it." He turned his attention over to Penguin. "Please, continue."

Oswald gave a courtesan bow to Frank. The two had developed a deep respect for each other; it was well earned on both ends. Over a long many years, the two had managed to stay out of each other's way; and had in fact risen to their current stations alongside each other as a result.

"Let me start by saying thank you to you all for your support in my Class Action suit." Oswald said. "As I am sure you all aware, it has to date proven quite successful in neutralizing the Bat and his efforts to meddle in our affairs. While I'm sure each of you may have heard that you have all heard that it was Killer Croc who put the Bat on the shelf, I ask you; when has the Dark Knight ever left us alone due to physical duress?"

All three of them remained silent.

Oswald continued: "So now that we have seen that it is possible for all of us to cooperate with each other, I come to you with a proposition: We consolidate our networks and operate as four cells of one greater organism. Each of us would have territories and specialized fields in which we oversee all operations, and we all share in the overall profit margin."

"Rather than fight each other, or work as separate entities, we operate as a community." Akio said quietly, as if to confirm.

"_Hai, Akio-san." _Penguin replied with a bow. Though his Japanese was very limited, he had hoped the effort would earn him some favor with the new head of the Himura Clan.

Akio nodded once. "A divided village has no foundation and quickly falls, but a village in harmony with itself can withstand much."

"Tell me something, Oz," Frank chimed in. "How would we decide who runs what in this model of yours?"

"That, Mr. Falcone, is what we are here to work out."

Black Mask picked up the Martini glass in front of him from the table. "Before you three get too deep in your love fest," he interceded, "Let me ask you something; who's going to chair this council of bosses? Are you guys really going to let Penguin here bamboozle you that easy? Don't get me wrong, I get the whole strength and safety in numbers deal, but why should any of us let him be the man in charge?"

As Black Mask started to bring the glass to his lips, Penguin cleared his throat. That exact moment, a bullet shot through the window alongside them and shattered the stem of the glass Black Mask was holding. Black Mask shouted in surprise.

The goon with the tattoos pulled out a .45 and trained it on Penguin.

Bruno pulled out a .45 and trained it on the goon.

Tony Falcone pulled out a .44, uncertain who to train it on.

The woman pulled out a sword, ready to strike anyone who got too close to Akio down. Penguin had no idea where the sword came from.

Himura Akio extended an arm to halt his guard and spoke quickly to her in Japanese. He spoke too quickly for Oswald to catch the specific words; but he was able to get a general idea. It was something about a show of strength, and something about how rude the masked man was being. The woman put her blade away and bowed reverently.

Only Cobblepot himself and Frank Falcone remained unmoved.

Once everyone put their weapons away, Penguin spoke: "If the arrangement as it stands now is not to your liking, Roman, you are free to leave this table with no further incident."

Black Mask guffawed, checked his hand one more time for any wounds, and finding none he got up from his chair and left the room. Tattoos followed.

Penguin watched carefully as they left. Once they were gone, he returned his attention to the remaining pair.

"Now," he said, "shall we begin discussing the specifics of our consolidated Community?"

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Jan 10:_

_I was right! Jack is starting to really soften up to me! There's still a lot of flirting from him, but that's actually become kind of fun. When we do get to an actual conversation in our sessions, he really opens up. The whole thing is really very heartbreaking once you know what he went through. He tried to do things legit, but those Falcones kept pushing him to pay off his father's debts until poor Jack could only see one way out. That was why he created the Red Hood personae. 'I mean the real Red Hood, not that fashion rebel imposter that's out there now!' he says_. _The original idea was to create a figure which would make a gang to take out the Falcones, be the one on top of the entire network, and then vanish forever, leaving the Criminal world in chaos. If you think about it, his original objective was really heroic. He even took down Cyrus Gold in the process. His plan would have worked, too, 'if the Dork Knight didn't interfere.' As a note, I point out that this kind of strategy shows a definite clarity of thought and methodology, which goes again to prove my thesis that Jack Napier is not insane."_

The Bird-Man had Deadshot on his payroll. It had to be him. That shot was too perfect to be anybody else. I'm no slouch when it comes to shooting, but even I couldn't have made that shot. Just the stem of the glass I was holding, and not a scratch on my hand. I have to admit, when he says that he never misses, he can back that up.

Beneath his mask, Black Mask grimaced. Smart money said that by now, Penguin had his new hired gun tracking and watching him; Waiting for him to make his first move. It didn't matter; his first move was already made, and none of them even knew it yet. His agentshad both of the other guests' cars bugged, and he was able to hear their conversations immediately after their conference. Falcone was being smart, and choosing his words carefully. All he could really get was that this Community deal was better than going to war, which gets costly. This was told to his dimwit son in a fashion that was like drawing a picture out of words. Bugging Akio was, for now, a pointless endeavor; in private he spoke only Japanese. Roman made a note to get a translator.

There was a knock on the door; the sequence of the knocking was the correct code for Tattoo.

"Come in."

Tattoo opened the door with one hand. Under his arm he was carrying a package.

"This just came in from our new man, boss." Tattoo said, holding the package out. "I checked it, it's clean."

"Give it here."

Tattoo came into the office and placed the flat, oblong box on his desk, then turned to leave.

"Stay, Tattoo." Black Mask ordered. "If this is what it's supposed to be, I'll be calling you back in to take it to the Professor, anyway."

After Tattoo stopped and turned around, Roman opened the box. There it was, just as promised. Beneath his mask, Roman smiled.

It was one of the Bat's famous utility belts.

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel:_

_"Jan 21:_

_Jack started off in very cheerful mood today; more so than usual. According to him, today would have been his mother's birthday. We talked at length about his mother. It appears she was really the one bright point in his otherwise impossible life. I'll admit I sort of missed his flirtations today, but then it was his mom we were talking about. I guess it's fair that she get all his attention one day of the year. Very briefly, he shed a tear or two, indicating how much he still misses her. I guess it's actually very generous of him to otherwise give me his attention undivided. He brightened up quickly enough, saying that now he had me to talk to, and that I sort of reminded him of her. _

_What an absolute sweetheart thing to say!"_

The Penguin was still fuming. So much, in fact, that it was difficult to maintain his composure. How long had this treachery been going on?

Less than two weeks ago, he received a text message from Deadshot. It was a report on his surveillance of Black Mask. The text was still burned in his memory:

Package received from new man. Merchandise confirmed; Gold.

Black Mask had infiltrated his inner circle. Even now he found it hard to believe that Cecil was a traitor! It was either him or Brian; possibly both. The merchandise in question and confirmed was the Bat's belt that Brian had acquired from the sewers some two months ago. Upon receiving the message, Oswald Cobblepot typed a reply, complete with instructions regarding the when and where to deal with this problem.


	3. Chapter 3

Shots

1: December

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec. 15: _

_Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, I finally got my opportunity to prove my thesis regarding Jack Napier, aka the Joker. For review, in my original thesis, I put forth the proposition that Mr. Napier is not, in fact, insane. My theory is that he is faking in order to evade a proper trial and the inevitable incarceration that he would face. To understand the validity of this theory, one needs only to observe his behavior closely to notice clear signs of lucidity and even conscience. _

_My first meeting with Jack was considerably less than stellar. He was generally unresponsive to any of my attempts to converse with him in any meaningful manner. Rather, he spent the entire session flirting with me. While flattering, this actually serves to add validity to my theory; clearly he was being evasive in order maintain his cover." _

"We are rolling in three, two..."

Vicky Vale stood just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary, about to cover what would possibly be the biggest story since Killer Croc escaped from Arkham Asylum last month. The fact that nobody has seen nor heard from the Batman since then only serves to amplify the importance of what is happening today, and thank God Knox is nowhere in sight. He was too busy with the Class Action suit that Oswald Cobblepot initiated almost immediately after Croc was recaptured. If she did this right, she might be able to scoop him on that, too.

"Good afternoon, Gotham!" Vicky greeted into the camera as soon as the cameraman gave her the signal. "This is Vicky Vale with channel 6 news. At this very moment, I am standing just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary where an unexpected turn of events has taken place and Floyd Lawton, also known as the notorious gunman Deadshot, has been granted Parole. Why this is unexpected is because initial reports indicated that his application for Parole was expected to be denied, but for reasons that are not yet clear, that decision was suddenly overturned and his Parole was granted."

A camera flash caught her eye. Being a professional and on camera live herself; she did not blink. Neither did she frown when she saw the source of the flash; it was Alexander Knox and his slippery photographer. They made it to the show after all.

"Standing here with me is Sergeant Janine Toussaint of the Gotham PD," Vicky continued. "Sergeant, what can you say to the people of Gotham about this unlikely turn of events?"

"Only that it was unexpected, and that the Police will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Lawton." Toussaint replied.

"Is that to say, then, that Commissioner Gordon disagrees with this decision?" Vicky asked. In her mind, this was a rhetorical question that needed to be asked. It was well documented that James Gordon played a key role along with Batman in the capture of Deadshot; much like Toussaint did in the recapture of Killer Croc one month ago.

"He has his doubts that Mr. Lawton is suitable to be allowed back into society, yes."

"The question the people of Gotham really want answered, Sergeant," Knox barged in, "is how did this happen; is this in any way connected to the Mob?"

"What we do know," Toussaint responded, "is that attorney Harold Dustman appeared late in Mr. Lawton's hearing to represent him, and shortly after that Parole was granted."

"What about the fact that Dustman is known to have a client list that includes the likes of the Falcone family and Oswald Cobblepot in addition to Deadshot?" Knox pressed. "Is there any speculation that either of them is in any way related to the decision to grant this known assassin Parole? Do the Police know if either of them is planning on hiring him? And if so, to what end, and how do the Police intend to keep the people of Gotham safe now that the Batman has gone into hiding, clearly to avoid being arrested?"

"No comment." Toussaint said plainly. She wanted desperately to tear one off of Knox, but she knew she couldn't do that. Gordon's Police Force doesn't do that. While it was true that Cobblepot had gained enough support in his Class Action suit to put the screws to Gordon to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Dark Knight, scumbags like Knox spun the matter so far sideways it wasn't even worth tabloid coverage, let alone news. Batman wasn't hiding; he was recovering after the beating he took last month. She wasn't even back to 100%, and he got it ten times as bad as she did.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Here he comes!"

All attention turned away from the Sergeant and towards the activity inside the gate as they started to slowly open. On the other side, Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, was being escorted out of Gotham Penitentiary by two armed guards, and was accompanied by Harold Dustman, Attorney at Law.

Vicky Vale nudged her way towards the pair as they exited the gate, making certain that Alexander Knox was well and far behind her.

"Mr. Lawton!" she called out. "Do you have anything to say now that you are a free man?"

Floyd stopped, turned, and smiled at the camera with a casual shrug. "What can I say?" he replied, "I guess there really is a Santa Claus," he paused with a wink, "Merry Christmas, everybody."

With that, at Dustman's urging, they pressed on towards a car waiting for them on the street. Dustman opened rear passenger door and let his client in.

"Hey, Deadshot," Knox called from a distance, tape recorder held high overhead. "What do you have to say about the speculation that you were set free as part of a fee for a big hit?"

"My client has no further comments at this time, thank you!" Dustman called back, closing the passenger door. Without another word he then opened the passenger front door of the car, and let himself in. Before anybody else could get a coherent question out, the car drove away.

Inside the car, Floyd couldn't help but chuckle.

Harold glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't very smart, you know," he said. "I thought I told you to say nothing to the press or anyone until we got into the car."

Floyd scoffed. "Relax." He said. "I wouldn't have given anything up. Besides, making smartass remarks like that is kind of my trademark."

"Exactly my point, Floyd," Dustman retorted. "You are supposed to be rehabilitated; a changed man who has learned his lesson."

"Whatever," Floyd dismissed the admonishment. "So where are we going now, anyway?"

Dustman grinned. "I want you to meet somebody."

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 21:_

_I'm finally making some progress with Jack. Today he opened up a little bit and started talking about his childhood. He claimed that his father was an abusive drunk with a severe gambling problem, which led first to the death of his mother and then his father at the hands of the Falcone family; specifically one of their goons named Cyrus Gold. I take note that Cyrus Gold was a notorious criminal long ago. Just how old is Jack, anyway? _

_His narrative also included accounts of abusive language towards himself and his mother, as well as numerous severe beatings in their crappy apartment in the poor district. I can relate to that, which is why it was really quite the trick for me not to fall into his attempts to trick me into making our conversation about me. I should add here that Jack is obviously a very intelligent man, and that I get the sense that any post secondary education he may have is likely based on scholarships rather than being able to afford enrollment. Again, this is something I can identify with. _

_Somehow it must have gotten out that I too have no parents or siblings, because at the end of our session, Jack invited me to join him Christmas Eve for dinner. As this showed signs of compassion which adds even more validity to my theory, I accepted, on the condition that it was clear to him that this dinner was not a date. He readily agreed." _

Alvarez ushered the sniper into a back service entrance to the Estate once he was certain nobody had eyes on them. He closed the door quietly and led the sniper up a set of stairs and down a hallway which led to a small apartment within the Estate on the Hill. At the door of the apartment, Alvarez stopped the sniper and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Lt. Brian Dustman on the other side. Brian nodded at Alvarez, looked the sniper over, and nodded in approval before letting them in.

Inside, the sniper recognized Brian right away, and of course he knew Alvarez. The room they were in was a small front room that served as an office; there was a desk directly in front of him, and behind the desk was a man whose facial features could not be made due to the positioning of the lighting in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" the man behind the desk asked. He had a slight southern twang to his voice, which the sniper immediately recognized; he'd heard it before.

"Yes, sir." He replied politely.

The man cleared his throat. As if this was a signal, Brian started to reach into his coat for his sidearm.

"Let's try that again." The man said. "Do you know who I am?"

The sniper caught on this time. "No sir, I do not." He said. "I've never seen your face."

"That's better." The man said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I only know what I need to know."

"I like that." The man said, impressed. From his desk he pulled up a sheet, which he handed to Brian, who was standing beside him. "Go on," the man said to Brian. "Hand the gentleman that last piece of information he needs."

Brian Dustman stepped across the office and handed the sniper the paper. The sniper took it and saw that it was a photograph. The sniper smiled.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, sir, I do." The sniper said.

"Do you know how to find him?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"That man is your target." The man behind the desk explained. "You will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir."

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 25:_

_Merry Christmas! I have to admit, dinner with Jack last night was fantastic! I had no idea the cooks at Arkham could put together such a fabulous spread! Jack was surprisingly charming and disarming, and even wore a Santa hat the whole time. To his credit, he went out of his way to make sure it was not a date. While somewhat adolescent, his calling it 'not a date' all night long was really quite an entertaining gag which never quite got old. He really does have quite the sense of humor; he even shared in the laughter when he spilled the Christmas pudding in his own lap. He made light of it by saying 'just call me pudding from now on!' How we both laughed long and loud at that. _

_I think I'm starting to win him over."_

2: January

The conference room fell silent the moment Oswald Cobblepot stepped in. Just seconds before, two of three men inside were bickering – albeit behind a translucent veil of polite hostility – over a combination of cultural differences and on ongoing dispute over gambling territories. The third man sat back and let the other two have at it; observing with only the most fleeting of interest.

In truth, before the Penguin made his appearance, there were a total five men and one woman in the room; each of the men had brought one bodyguard, as was permitted for this meeting. Cobblepot, accompanied by Bruno, made up a sum total of eight in the room. Before he spoke, Oswald did a quick scan of the room visually to account for who was present and where they situated themselves; taking specific note that all of them made a point of being sure they had their backs neither to the door nor to the large window.

First, there was Frank Falcone of the Falcone Family. Nothing needed to be said about him; he was, apart from Penguin himself, the true veteran of the business. His family had been at it for several generations before he was even born. Frank was born, bred, and trained all his life to carry on the Family tradition. His escort was Tony; his son and heir apparent. In appearance, he was very much a younger version of dear old dad, though it was no secret to anyone in the room that Tony was the finest fruit from the Falcone family tree. Perhaps Frank was hoping he could teach the poor boy something today.

Next was Himura Akio; by no means an upstart, but recent transplant from Japan to take over Japan town after the recent death Himura Anjin. Little beyond that was known about him. His escort was the woman, who was very thoroughly covered so as to not be clearly identified. It was Akio and Frank who were bickering. Apparently, some of Akio's advances had stepped on Frank's toes somehow. As he had hoped, his litigation against the Bat had put a cork in that dispute; at least for now, as both parties were quick to join in on the Class Action suit.

None were as quick to join as the third man; who was most commonly known as Black Mask. Since this was Penguin's chief rival of late, some may have been surprised at his cooperation so far. Cobblepot was not. Mask's hatred for Batman was so intense it could be played upon; anything that might hurt the Bat, Black Mask was likely to want to be part of it. The real question was; could he be trusted? The answer was; of course not! Part of the reason he was invited was to be able to watch him closely and see what his next move would be. Mask had brought with him one of his goons; the one with the tattoos.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" Penguin greeted. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Get to the point, Bird-man," Black Mask said sharply. "And this better be good."

"Hey, shut up, freak!" Tony blurted out. Before he could say anything more, Frank raised a hand to silence his son.

"I apologize on behalf of my son," he said in calm, measured tones. "Etiquette has never been a strong point for him. What Tony is trying to say, Mask, is that if you insist on interrupting our host, it will only take him that much longer to get to the point, as you so eloquently put it." He turned his attention over to Penguin. "Please, continue."

Oswald gave a courtesan bow to Frank. The two had developed a deep respect for each other; it was well earned on both ends. Over a long many years, the two had managed to stay out of each other's way; and had in fact risen to their current stations alongside each other as a result.

"Let me start by saying thank you to you all for your support in my Class Action suit." Oswald said. "As I am sure you all aware, it has to date proven quite successful in neutralizing the Bat and his efforts to meddle in our affairs. While I'm sure each of you may have heard that you have all heard that it was Killer Croc who put the Bat on the shelf, I ask you; when has the Dark Knight ever left us alone due to physical duress?"

All three of them remained silent.

Oswald continued: "So now that we have seen that it is possible for all of us to cooperate with each other, I come to you with a proposition: We consolidate our networks and operate as four cells of one greater organism. Each of us would have territories and specialized fields in which we oversee all operations, and we all share in the overall profit margin."

"Rather than fight each other, or work as separate entities, we operate as a community." Akio said quietly, as if to confirm.

"_Hai, Akio-san." _Penguin replied with a bow. Though his Japanese was very limited, he had hoped the effort would earn him some favor with the new head of the Himura Clan.

Akio nodded once. "A divided village has no foundation and quickly falls, but a village in harmony with itself can withstand much."

"Tell me something, Oz," Frank chimed in. "How would we decide who runs what in this model of yours?"

"That, Mr. Falcone, is what we are here to work out."

Black Mask picked up the Martini glass in front of him from the table. "Before you three get too deep in your love fest," he interceded, "Let me ask you something; who's going to chair this council of bosses? Are you guys really going to let Penguin here bamboozle you that easy? Don't get me wrong, I get the whole strength and safety in numbers deal, but why should any of us let him be the man in charge?"

As Black Mask started to bring the glass to his lips, Penguin cleared his throat. That exact moment, a bullet shot through the window alongside them and shattered the stem of the glass Black Mask was holding. Black Mask shouted in surprise.

The goon with the tattoos pulled out a .45 and trained it on Penguin.

Bruno pulled out a .45 and trained it on the goon.

Tony Falcone pulled out a .44, uncertain who to train it on.

The woman pulled out a sword, ready to strike anyone who got too close to Akio down. Penguin had no idea where the sword came from.

Himura Akio extended an arm to halt his guard and spoke quickly to her in Japanese. He spoke too quickly for Oswald to catch the specific words; but he was able to get a general idea. It was something about a show of strength, and something about how rude the masked man was being. The woman put her blade away and bowed reverently.

Only Cobblepot himself and Frank Falcone remained unmoved.

Once everyone put their weapons away, Penguin spoke: "If the arrangement as it stands now is not to your liking, Roman, you are free to leave this table with no further incident."

Black Mask guffawed, checked his hand one more time for any wounds, and finding none he got up from his chair and left the room. Tattoos followed.

Penguin watched carefully as they left. Once they were gone, he returned his attention to the remaining pair.

"Now," he said, "shall we begin discussing the specifics of our consolidated Community?"

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Jan 10:_

_I was right! Jack is starting to really soften up to me! There's still a lot of flirting from him, but that's actually become kind of fun. When we do get to an actual conversation in our sessions, he really opens up. The whole thing is really very heartbreaking once you know what he went through. He tried to do things legit, but those Falcones kept pushing him to pay off his father's debts until poor Jack could only see one way out. That was why he created the Red Hood personae. 'I mean the real Red Hood, not that fashion rebel imposter that's out there now!' he says_. _The original idea was to create a figure which would make a gang to take out the Falcones, be the one on top of the entire network, and then vanish forever, leaving the Criminal world in chaos. If you think about it, his original objective was really heroic. He even took down Cyrus Gold in the process. His plan would have worked, too, 'if the Dork Knight didn't interfere.' As a note, I point out that this kind of strategy shows a definite clarity of thought and methodology, which goes again to prove my thesis that Jack Napier is not insane."_

The Bird-Man had Deadshot on his payroll. It had to be him. That shot was too perfect to be anybody else. I'm no slouch when it comes to shooting, but even I couldn't have made that shot. Just the stem of the glass I was holding, and not a scratch on my hand. I have to admit, when he says that he never misses, he can back that up.

Beneath his mask, Black Mask grimaced. Smart money said that by now, Penguin had his new hired gun tracking and watching him; Waiting for him to make his first move. It didn't matter; his first move was already made, and none of them even knew it yet. His agentshad both of the other guests' cars bugged, and he was able to hear their conversations immediately after their conference. Falcone was being smart, and choosing his words carefully. All he could really get was that this Community deal was better than going to war, which gets costly. This was told to his dimwit son in a fashion that was like drawing a picture out of words. Bugging Akio was, for now, a pointless endeavor; in private he spoke only Japanese. Roman made a note to get a translator.

There was a knock on the door; the sequence of the knocking was the correct code for Tattoo.

"Come in."

Tattoo opened the door with one hand. Under his arm he was carrying a package.

"This just came in from our new man, boss." Tattoo said, holding the package out. "I checked it, it's clean."

"Give it here."

Tattoo came into the office and placed the flat, oblong box on his desk, then turned to leave.

"Stay, Tattoo." Black Mask ordered. "If this is what it's supposed to be, I'll be calling you back in to take it to the Professor, anyway."

After Tattoo stopped and turned around, Roman opened the box. There it was, just as promised. Beneath his mask, Roman smiled.

It was one of the Bat's famous utility belts.

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel:_

_"Jan 21:_

_Jack started off in very cheerful mood today; more so than usual. According to him, today would have been his mother's birthday. We talked at length about his mother. It appears she was really the one bright point in his otherwise impossible life. I'll admit I sort of missed his flirtations today, but then it was his mom we were talking about. I guess it's fair that she get all his attention one day of the year. Very briefly, he shed a tear or two, indicating how much he still misses her. I guess it's actually very generous of him to otherwise give me his attention undivided. He brightened up quickly enough, saying that now he had me to talk to, and that I sort of reminded him of her. _

_What an absolute sweetheart thing to say!"_

The Penguin was still fuming. So much, in fact, that it was difficult to maintain his composure. How long had this treachery been going on?

Less than two weeks ago, he received a text message from Deadshot. It was a report on his surveillance of Black Mask. The text was still burned in his memory:

Package received from new man. Merchandise confirmed; Gold.

Black Mask had infiltrated his inner circle. Even now he found it hard to believe that Cecil was a traitor! It was either him or Brian; possibly both. The merchandise in question and confirmed was the Bat's belt that Brian had acquired from the sewers some two months ago. Upon receiving the message, Oswald Cobblepot typed a reply, complete with instructions regarding the when and where to deal with this problem.

3  
February

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Feb 5:_

_The Board of Directors are a bunch of complete numbskulls! They're trying to tell me I'm off base with my theories about Jack, and now they want me off his case! My thesis and my theory are ridiculous, they say. You want to talk about ridiculous? I'm the only one Jack opens up to, and they want to pull the plug on all my hard work; that's what's ridiculous! My conduct with him is unethical, they say. What's unethical about doing whatever it takes to reach him? _

_Well, that's the story of my life; right there. Just when I start making something of myself, whoosh! Some pencil pushing pansy comes along and spoils everything. I guess I got to go and break the bad news to Jack..._

_Feb 7:_

_I'm still in the picture, baby! Thanks to Jack, the Board of Directors reversed their decision, on order of Dr. Crane himself. You can't beat that, can you?_

_'Now don't you cry, Harley,' he soothed when I told him what was happening. 'I can fix this.' (That's what he has taken to calling me lately – Harley. I like it.)_

_He sure did! He insisted that I stay; that I was the only one he would see. How great is that? My whole life I'm just plain old brainy nerd-girl Harleen that nobody gave any thought to at all, and now I mean something to somebody. Now I'm Harley. Jack also told me in strictest confidence that he had something on Dr. Crane; something that would expose his lack of ethics. He didn't say what, and I didn't ask. It doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is that my pudding came through for me."_

Frank Falcone slammed his fist on the table at the Iceberg Lounge, shaking the glasses the other two men had in front of them. For his own part, Penguin had to put in an effort to suppress a grin; he had never seen Frank this agitated, not even when the original Red Hood killed his father and predecessor Mario. The third man, Himura Akio, showed no emotion. His female escort stood at the front entrance of the Lounge as sentry, arms crossed. Neither Cobblepot nor Falcone had escorts for this meeting. Frank had just finished telling them how he found his son, Tony, dead in his home. Tony was placed in his easy chair, facing the big screen television, shot in the heart. As a calling card or a message, the assassin had fastened a black wooden mask to Tony's face with superglue.

"You have the condolences of the Himura Clan, _Falcone-san._" Akio said. "With the killing of my uncle under similar circumstances, it appears we have ourselves a common foe, _neh?_"

"I just finished telling the kid that the last thing we need is war," Frank said grimly. "I guess that's what you call irony, ain't it?"

Akio nodded once to indicate he agreed. "Indeed," he said, "If there is a silver lining in this unfortunate incident, it is that it only serves to underscore the importance of our unity; all three of us."

I couldn't have said it any better myself, _Akio-san. _Oswald thought to himself. He didn't have to say anything; both Frank and Akio were doing all the talking for him. Just like marionettes, they danced to his tune.

"Absolutely, _Akio-san," _Penguin spoke up anyway. "I ask your forgiveness for saying this, but given our age and your age, you are truly wise far beyond your years."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Mask has taken direct shots at two of us, and that means all three of us are hit; whether by a bullet or by shrapnel. I don't like it, but if he wants war, I say we give him one!"

"Agreed," Akio said.

"Hold on, gentlemen!" Oswald raised his voice. Once he had their attention, he took a sip from his glass, and proceeded. "I understand your anger and share in your pain, really I do. But let us first cool our blood and approach this in a civilized manner. I may have a way to end this so-called war before it begins. Will you hear me out, and try what I have in mind? If it doesn't stop the escalation, then we can prepare for a full scale war, and least we can honestly say we tried to prevent it."

Both men were silent in their contemplation for a moment.

"What's on your mind, Oz?" Frank asked finally.

Oswald Cobblepot finally allowed himself the grin he had been suppressing.

_From the notes of Harley Quinzel_

_"Feb 14 (Valentine's Day): _

_I had no idea J was such a talented artist! I should have guessed it, but it totally caught me off guard. I showed up for our session this morning, and wouldn't you know, he had a home-made Valentine waiting for me. It was this card he made himself – that's much more romantic than anything you buy in a store, I say – done up real pretty in the shape of a heart. The color of the heart was purple, and the front of it had a drawing of himself looking all sincere holding a dozen roses (it really is a dozen, I counted), with the caption: 'Dear Harley, do you know who makes me a better man?' and then when you open it there's a fold out picture of him handing the roses to a gal in a red and black jumpsuit wearing a jester cap. You can the gal's face and it's a remarkable likeness of me. The caption inside says: 'You, that's who! Much love, J.'_

_It's really true. For the first time in my whole lousy life, somebody cares about and really needs me. I make J a better man. Maybe I should let him have his ruse, then we can make like I'm curing him. After that, maybe I can keep him in a way that he can live his life right." _

Black Mask got a kick out of the morning paper's front page article; written by Alexander Knox. The headline that greeted the people of Gotham that morning read:

**GANG WAR DAWNS**

**Two prominent figures in Gangland assassinated in weeks following parole of professional hit-man**

It was perfect. Knox wrote that the leader of the Japan town (sometimes called the Scarlett Village by residents) mafia was shot dead, and very shortly after that the heir apparent of the Falcone Family was found, also shot dead. Though Knox did not get into specifics, he did write that the circumstances of both scenes were similar. He also included the fact that Floyd Lawton, more commonly known as Deadshot, was paroled under dubious circumstances just weeks before this pair of hits took place, despite police claims that they would be monitoring his actions closely.

From there, Knox started to editorialize. He argued that one did not have to be the worlds' greatest detective to see the correlation of these events and put the pieces together. It's obvious to anyone, Knox insisted, that whoever paid Harold Dustman off then hired Mr. Lawton to take out the competition. Knox did not name names of potential Dustman's clients; he didn't need to. Since one of the victims was Tony Falcone, that really only left one suspect. Black Mask already knew the Penguin would have covered his tracks by now, but there would still be pressure on him. He had to admit, that southern boy timed his part just right to take out Himura Anjin. That should put a stop to Penguin's consolidation play; especially after showing off he had Deadshot.

"Oh, my God!" a shout rang out.

Black Mask looked up from the paper. The shout and the racket that followed came from downstairs, near the front hall. Tossing the paper aside, Black Mask got up from his easy chair to investigate. By the time he got down the stairs, the commotion had settled into an eerie silence; four of his employees standing in a circle, staring at the floor. He shoved one of them aside to see for himself what they were gawking at.

He couldn't believe his eyes. On the floor was a packing envelope; addressed to his first and last name, return address was Tattoos' pad, with several items tossed around it. First was a wallet-sized photo of Tony Falcone, wearing a bowling shirt and grinning like the moron he was. Second was what looked like a letter, and the third thing looked like some kind of leather mask. Roman picked up the letter, read:

Now we have each lost one. All scores are settled, this ends now.

The sentence structure was plain, simple, to the point. That could be Akio, or it could be Falcone. The writing style was a flowery scrawl that had to be Cobblepot. That could only mean the Penguin knew about Cecil. It wasn't a big deal; all he had to do was give him the heads up to lie low. He handed the letter off to one of his employees and reached down for the mask. As he already had an idea what it was, it was all he could do to keep his hand from trembling as he did. Still, he had to be sure.

It wasn't leather. It was human skin. Black Mask was holding in his hand the tanned remains of the face of Tattoo; it was unmistakeable. It had to be the work of that samurai or ninja woman the Himura kid had shadowing him. Who else would have that kind of precision? Black mask scowled under his mask. Tattoo was one of his first recruits, one of his best men. Clutching the mask of his man, he rushed back upstairs. This wasn't over; but it would be soon.

_Harley's notes_

_"Feb 23:_

_The Board of Directors won't accept my notes anymore. Even Dr. Crane won't look at them. He just tells me I'm doing a good job and sends me away. I guess whatever J has on him is a lot bigger than I thought. It doesn't matter anyway. These notes aren't for them, they're for me. I might share them with my new neighbor at home, Talia. She heard that I was working with J and got real interested. She said she thought it must be scary. It isn't scary at all I tell her. Lately he's been on his best behavior. I think he figured out my plan to 'cure' him so he could walk out of that creepy asylum. We can't do it too fast, though, because nobody would believe that. _


	4. Chapter 4

Shots

1: December

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec. 15: _

_Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, I finally got my opportunity to prove my thesis regarding Jack Napier, aka the Joker. For review, in my original thesis, I put forth the proposition that Mr. Napier is not, in fact, insane. My theory is that he is faking in order to evade a proper trial and the inevitable incarceration that he would face. To understand the validity of this theory, one needs only to observe his behavior closely to notice clear signs of lucidity and even conscience. _

_My first meeting with Jack was considerably less than stellar. He was generally unresponsive to any of my attempts to converse with him in any meaningful manner. Rather, he spent the entire session flirting with me. While flattering, this actually serves to add validity to my theory; clearly he was being evasive in order maintain his cover." _

"We are rolling in three, two..."

Vicky Vale stood just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary, about to cover what would possibly be the biggest story since Killer Croc escaped from Arkham Asylum last month. The fact that nobody has seen nor heard from the Batman since then only serves to amplify the importance of what is happening today, and thank God Knox is nowhere in sight. He was too busy with the Class Action suit that Oswald Cobblepot initiated almost immediately after Croc was recaptured. If she did this right, she might be able to scoop him on that, too.

"Good afternoon, Gotham!" Vicky greeted into the camera as soon as the cameraman gave her the signal. "This is Vicky Vale with channel 6 news. At this very moment, I am standing just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary where an unexpected turn of events has taken place and Floyd Lawton, also known as the notorious gunman Deadshot, has been granted Parole. Why this is unexpected is because initial reports indicated that his application for Parole was expected to be denied, but for reasons that are not yet clear, that decision was suddenly overturned and his Parole was granted."

A camera flash caught her eye. Being a professional and on camera live herself; she did not blink. Neither did she frown when she saw the source of the flash; it was Alexander Knox and his slippery photographer. They made it to the show after all.

"Standing here with me is Sergeant Janine Toussaint of the Gotham PD," Vicky continued. "Sergeant, what can you say to the people of Gotham about this unlikely turn of events?"

"Only that it was unexpected, and that the Police will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Lawton." Toussaint replied.

"Is that to say, then, that Commissioner Gordon disagrees with this decision?" Vicky asked. In her mind, this was a rhetorical question that needed to be asked. It was well documented that James Gordon played a key role along with Batman in the capture of Deadshot; much like Toussaint did in the recapture of Killer Croc one month ago.

"He has his doubts that Mr. Lawton is suitable to be allowed back into society, yes."

"The question the people of Gotham really want answered, Sergeant," Knox barged in, "is how did this happen; is this in any way connected to the Mob?"

"What we do know," Toussaint responded, "is that attorney Harold Dustman appeared late in Mr. Lawton's hearing to represent him, and shortly after that Parole was granted."

"What about the fact that Dustman is known to have a client list that includes the likes of the Falcone family and Oswald Cobblepot in addition to Deadshot?" Knox pressed. "Is there any speculation that either of them is in any way related to the decision to grant this known assassin Parole? Do the Police know if either of them is planning on hiring him? And if so, to what end, and how do the Police intend to keep the people of Gotham safe now that the Batman has gone into hiding, clearly to avoid being arrested?"

"No comment." Toussaint said plainly. She wanted desperately to tear one off of Knox, but she knew she couldn't do that. Gordon's Police Force doesn't do that. While it was true that Cobblepot had gained enough support in his Class Action suit to put the screws to Gordon to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Dark Knight, scumbags like Knox spun the matter so far sideways it wasn't even worth tabloid coverage, let alone news. Batman wasn't hiding; he was recovering after the beating he took last month. She wasn't even back to 100%, and he got it ten times as bad as she did.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Here he comes!"

All attention turned away from the Sergeant and towards the activity inside the gate as they started to slowly open. On the other side, Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, was being escorted out of Gotham Penitentiary by two armed guards, and was accompanied by Harold Dustman, Attorney at Law.

Vicky Vale nudged her way towards the pair as they exited the gate, making certain that Alexander Knox was well and far behind her.

"Mr. Lawton!" she called out. "Do you have anything to say now that you are a free man?"

Floyd stopped, turned, and smiled at the camera with a casual shrug. "What can I say?" he replied, "I guess there really is a Santa Claus," he paused with a wink, "Merry Christmas, everybody."

With that, at Dustman's urging, they pressed on towards a car waiting for them on the street. Dustman opened rear passenger door and let his client in.

"Hey, Deadshot," Knox called from a distance, tape recorder held high overhead. "What do you have to say about the speculation that you were set free as part of a fee for a big hit?"

"My client has no further comments at this time, thank you!" Dustman called back, closing the passenger door. Without another word he then opened the passenger front door of the car, and let himself in. Before anybody else could get a coherent question out, the car drove away.

Inside the car, Floyd couldn't help but chuckle.

Harold glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't very smart, you know," he said. "I thought I told you to say nothing to the press or anyone until we got into the car."

Floyd scoffed. "Relax." He said. "I wouldn't have given anything up. Besides, making smartass remarks like that is kind of my trademark."

"Exactly my point, Floyd," Dustman retorted. "You are supposed to be rehabilitated; a changed man who has learned his lesson."

"Whatever," Floyd dismissed the admonishment. "So where are we going now, anyway?"

Dustman grinned. "I want you to meet somebody."

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 21:_

_I'm finally making some progress with Jack. Today he opened up a little bit and started talking about his childhood. He claimed that his father was an abusive drunk with a severe gambling problem, which led first to the death of his mother and then his father at the hands of the Falcone family; specifically one of their goons named Cyrus Gold. I take note that Cyrus Gold was a notorious criminal long ago. Just how old is Jack, anyway? _

_His narrative also included accounts of abusive language towards himself and his mother, as well as numerous severe beatings in their crappy apartment in the poor district. I can relate to that, which is why it was really quite the trick for me not to fall into his attempts to trick me into making our conversation about me. I should add here that Jack is obviously a very intelligent man, and that I get the sense that any post secondary education he may have is likely based on scholarships rather than being able to afford enrollment. Again, this is something I can identify with. _

_Somehow it must have gotten out that I too have no parents or siblings, because at the end of our session, Jack invited me to join him Christmas Eve for dinner. As this showed signs of compassion which adds even more validity to my theory, I accepted, on the condition that it was clear to him that this dinner was not a date. He readily agreed." _

Alvarez ushered the sniper into a back service entrance to the Estate once he was certain nobody had eyes on them. He closed the door quietly and led the sniper up a set of stairs and down a hallway which led to a small apartment within the Estate on the Hill. At the door of the apartment, Alvarez stopped the sniper and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Lt. Brian Dustman on the other side. Brian nodded at Alvarez, looked the sniper over, and nodded in approval before letting them in.

Inside, the sniper recognized Brian right away, and of course he knew Alvarez. The room they were in was a small front room that served as an office; there was a desk directly in front of him, and behind the desk was a man whose facial features could not be made due to the positioning of the lighting in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" the man behind the desk asked. He had a slight southern twang to his voice, which the sniper immediately recognized; he'd heard it before.

"Yes, sir." He replied politely.

The man cleared his throat. As if this was a signal, Brian started to reach into his coat for his sidearm.

"Let's try that again." The man said. "Do you know who I am?"

The sniper caught on this time. "No sir, I do not." He said. "I've never seen your face."

"That's better." The man said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I only know what I need to know."

"I like that." The man said, impressed. From his desk he pulled up a sheet, which he handed to Brian, who was standing beside him. "Go on," the man said to Brian. "Hand the gentleman that last piece of information he needs."

Brian Dustman stepped across the office and handed the sniper the paper. The sniper took it and saw that it was a photograph. The sniper smiled.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, sir, I do." The sniper said.

"Do you know how to find him?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"That man is your target." The man behind the desk explained. "You will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir."

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 25:_

_Merry Christmas! I have to admit, dinner with Jack last night was fantastic! I had no idea the cooks at Arkham could put together such a fabulous spread! Jack was surprisingly charming and disarming, and even wore a Santa hat the whole time. To his credit, he went out of his way to make sure it was not a date. While somewhat adolescent, his calling it 'not a date' all night long was really quite an entertaining gag which never quite got old. He really does have quite the sense of humor; he even shared in the laughter when he spilled the Christmas pudding in his own lap. He made light of it by saying 'just call me pudding from now on!' How we both laughed long and loud at that. _

_I think I'm starting to win him over."_

2: January

The conference room fell silent the moment Oswald Cobblepot stepped in. Just seconds before, two of three men inside were bickering – albeit behind a translucent veil of polite hostility – over a combination of cultural differences and on ongoing dispute over gambling territories. The third man sat back and let the other two have at it; observing with only the most fleeting of interest.

In truth, before the Penguin made his appearance, there were a total five men and one woman in the room; each of the men had brought one bodyguard, as was permitted for this meeting. Cobblepot, accompanied by Bruno, made up a sum total of eight in the room. Before he spoke, Oswald did a quick scan of the room visually to account for who was present and where they situated themselves; taking specific note that all of them made a point of being sure they had their backs neither to the door nor to the large window.

First, there was Frank Falcone of the Falcone Family. Nothing needed to be said about him; he was, apart from Penguin himself, the true veteran of the business. His family had been at it for several generations before he was even born. Frank was born, bred, and trained all his life to carry on the Family tradition. His escort was Tony; his son and heir apparent. In appearance, he was very much a younger version of dear old dad, though it was no secret to anyone in the room that Tony was the finest fruit from the Falcone family tree. Perhaps Frank was hoping he could teach the poor boy something today.

Next was Himura Akio; by no means an upstart, but recent transplant from Japan to take over Japan town after the recent death Himura Anjin. Little beyond that was known about him. His escort was the woman, who was very thoroughly covered so as to not be clearly identified. It was Akio and Frank who were bickering. Apparently, some of Akio's advances had stepped on Frank's toes somehow. As he had hoped, his litigation against the Bat had put a cork in that dispute; at least for now, as both parties were quick to join in on the Class Action suit.

None were as quick to join as the third man; who was most commonly known as Black Mask. Since this was Penguin's chief rival of late, some may have been surprised at his cooperation so far. Cobblepot was not. Mask's hatred for Batman was so intense it could be played upon; anything that might hurt the Bat, Black Mask was likely to want to be part of it. The real question was; could he be trusted? The answer was; of course not! Part of the reason he was invited was to be able to watch him closely and see what his next move would be. Mask had brought with him one of his goons; the one with the tattoos.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" Penguin greeted. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Get to the point, Bird-man," Black Mask said sharply. "And this better be good."

"Hey, shut up, freak!" Tony blurted out. Before he could say anything more, Frank raised a hand to silence his son.

"I apologize on behalf of my son," he said in calm, measured tones. "Etiquette has never been a strong point for him. What Tony is trying to say, Mask, is that if you insist on interrupting our host, it will only take him that much longer to get to the point, as you so eloquently put it." He turned his attention over to Penguin. "Please, continue."

Oswald gave a courtesan bow to Frank. The two had developed a deep respect for each other; it was well earned on both ends. Over a long many years, the two had managed to stay out of each other's way; and had in fact risen to their current stations alongside each other as a result.

"Let me start by saying thank you to you all for your support in my Class Action suit." Oswald said. "As I am sure you all aware, it has to date proven quite successful in neutralizing the Bat and his efforts to meddle in our affairs. While I'm sure each of you may have heard that you have all heard that it was Killer Croc who put the Bat on the shelf, I ask you; when has the Dark Knight ever left us alone due to physical duress?"

All three of them remained silent.

Oswald continued: "So now that we have seen that it is possible for all of us to cooperate with each other, I come to you with a proposition: We consolidate our networks and operate as four cells of one greater organism. Each of us would have territories and specialized fields in which we oversee all operations, and we all share in the overall profit margin."

"Rather than fight each other, or work as separate entities, we operate as a community." Akio said quietly, as if to confirm.

"_Hai, Akio-san." _Penguin replied with a bow. Though his Japanese was very limited, he had hoped the effort would earn him some favor with the new head of the Himura Clan.

Akio nodded once. "A divided village has no foundation and quickly falls, but a village in harmony with itself can withstand much."

"Tell me something, Oz," Frank chimed in. "How would we decide who runs what in this model of yours?"

"That, Mr. Falcone, is what we are here to work out."

Black Mask picked up the Martini glass in front of him from the table. "Before you three get too deep in your love fest," he interceded, "Let me ask you something; who's going to chair this council of bosses? Are you guys really going to let Penguin here bamboozle you that easy? Don't get me wrong, I get the whole strength and safety in numbers deal, but why should any of us let him be the man in charge?"

As Black Mask started to bring the glass to his lips, Penguin cleared his throat. That exact moment, a bullet shot through the window alongside them and shattered the stem of the glass Black Mask was holding. Black Mask shouted in surprise.

The goon with the tattoos pulled out a .45 and trained it on Penguin.

Bruno pulled out a .45 and trained it on the goon.

Tony Falcone pulled out a .44, uncertain who to train it on.

The woman pulled out a sword, ready to strike anyone who got too close to Akio down. Penguin had no idea where the sword came from.

Himura Akio extended an arm to halt his guard and spoke quickly to her in Japanese. He spoke too quickly for Oswald to catch the specific words; but he was able to get a general idea. It was something about a show of strength, and something about how rude the masked man was being. The woman put her blade away and bowed reverently.

Only Cobblepot himself and Frank Falcone remained unmoved.

Once everyone put their weapons away, Penguin spoke: "If the arrangement as it stands now is not to your liking, Roman, you are free to leave this table with no further incident."

Black Mask guffawed, checked his hand one more time for any wounds, and finding none he got up from his chair and left the room. Tattoos followed.

Penguin watched carefully as they left. Once they were gone, he returned his attention to the remaining pair.

"Now," he said, "shall we begin discussing the specifics of our consolidated Community?"

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Jan 10:_

_I was right! Jack is starting to really soften up to me! There's still a lot of flirting from him, but that's actually become kind of fun. When we do get to an actual conversation in our sessions, he really opens up. The whole thing is really very heartbreaking once you know what he went through. He tried to do things legit, but those Falcones kept pushing him to pay off his father's debts until poor Jack could only see one way out. That was why he created the Red Hood personae. 'I mean the real Red Hood, not that fashion rebel imposter that's out there now!' he says_. _The original idea was to create a figure which would make a gang to take out the Falcones, be the one on top of the entire network, and then vanish forever, leaving the Criminal world in chaos. If you think about it, his original objective was really heroic. He even took down Cyrus Gold in the process. His plan would have worked, too, 'if the Dork Knight didn't interfere.' As a note, I point out that this kind of strategy shows a definite clarity of thought and methodology, which goes again to prove my thesis that Jack Napier is not insane."_

The Bird-Man had Deadshot on his payroll. It had to be him. That shot was too perfect to be anybody else. I'm no slouch when it comes to shooting, but even I couldn't have made that shot. Just the stem of the glass I was holding, and not a scratch on my hand. I have to admit, when he says that he never misses, he can back that up.

Beneath his mask, Black Mask grimaced. Smart money said that by now, Penguin had his new hired gun tracking and watching him; Waiting for him to make his first move. It didn't matter; his first move was already made, and none of them even knew it yet. His agentshad both of the other guests' cars bugged, and he was able to hear their conversations immediately after their conference. Falcone was being smart, and choosing his words carefully. All he could really get was that this Community deal was better than going to war, which gets costly. This was told to his dimwit son in a fashion that was like drawing a picture out of words. Bugging Akio was, for now, a pointless endeavor; in private he spoke only Japanese. Roman made a note to get a translator.

There was a knock on the door; the sequence of the knocking was the correct code for Tattoo.

"Come in."

Tattoo opened the door with one hand. Under his arm he was carrying a package.

"This just came in from our new man, boss." Tattoo said, holding the package out. "I checked it, it's clean."

"Give it here."

Tattoo came into the office and placed the flat, oblong box on his desk, then turned to leave.

"Stay, Tattoo." Black Mask ordered. "If this is what it's supposed to be, I'll be calling you back in to take it to the Professor, anyway."

After Tattoo stopped and turned around, Roman opened the box. There it was, just as promised. Beneath his mask, Roman smiled.

It was one of the Bat's famous utility belts.

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel:_

_"Jan 21:_

_Jack started off in very cheerful mood today; more so than usual. According to him, today would have been his mother's birthday. We talked at length about his mother. It appears she was really the one bright point in his otherwise impossible life. I'll admit I sort of missed his flirtations today, but then it was his mom we were talking about. I guess it's fair that she get all his attention one day of the year. Very briefly, he shed a tear or two, indicating how much he still misses her. I guess it's actually very generous of him to otherwise give me his attention undivided. He brightened up quickly enough, saying that now he had me to talk to, and that I sort of reminded him of her. _

_What an absolute sweetheart thing to say!"_

The Penguin was still fuming. So much, in fact, that it was difficult to maintain his composure. How long had this treachery been going on?

Less than two weeks ago, he received a text message from Deadshot. It was a report on his surveillance of Black Mask. The text was still burned in his memory:

Package received from new man. Merchandise confirmed; Gold.

Black Mask had infiltrated his inner circle. Even now he found it hard to believe that Cecil was a traitor! It was either him or Brian; possibly both. The merchandise in question and confirmed was the Bat's belt that Brian had acquired from the sewers some two months ago. Upon receiving the message, Oswald Cobblepot typed a reply, complete with instructions regarding the when and where to deal with this problem.

3  
February

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Feb 5:_

_The Board of Directors are a bunch of complete numbskulls! They're trying to tell me I'm off base with my theories about Jack, and now they want me off his case! My thesis and my theory are ridiculous, they say. You want to talk about ridiculous? I'm the only one Jack opens up to, and they want to pull the plug on all my hard work; that's what's ridiculous! My conduct with him is unethical, they say. What's unethical about doing whatever it takes to reach him? _

_Well, that's the story of my life; right there. Just when I start making something of myself, whoosh! Some pencil pushing pansy comes along and spoils everything. I guess I got to go and break the bad news to Jack..._

_Feb 7:_

_I'm still in the picture, baby! Thanks to Jack, the Board of Directors reversed their decision, on order of Dr. Crane himself. You can't beat that, can you?_

_'Now don't you cry, Harley,' he soothed when I told him what was happening. 'I can fix this.' (That's what he has taken to calling me lately – Harley. I like it.)_

_He sure did! He insisted that I stay; that I was the only one he would see. How great is that? My whole life I'm just plain old brainy nerd-girl Harleen that nobody gave any thought to at all, and now I mean something to somebody. Now I'm Harley. Jack also told me in strictest confidence that he had something on Dr. Crane; something that would expose his lack of ethics. He didn't say what, and I didn't ask. It doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is that my pudding came through for me."_

Frank Falcone slammed his fist on the table at the Iceberg Lounge, shaking the glasses the other two men had in front of them. For his own part, Penguin had to put in an effort to suppress a grin; he had never seen Frank this agitated, not even when the original Red Hood killed his father and predecessor Mario. The third man, Himura Akio, showed no emotion. His female escort stood at the front entrance of the Lounge as sentry, arms crossed. Neither Cobblepot nor Falcone had escorts for this meeting. Frank had just finished telling them how he found his son, Tony, dead in his home. Tony was placed in his easy chair, facing the big screen television, shot in the heart. As a calling card or a message, the assassin had fastened a black wooden mask to Tony's face with superglue.

"You have the condolences of the Himura Clan, _Falcone-san._" Akio said. "With the killing of my uncle under similar circumstances, it appears we have ourselves a common foe, _neh?_"

"I just finished telling the kid that the last thing we need is war," Frank said grimly. "I guess that's what you call irony, ain't it?"

Akio nodded once to indicate he agreed. "Indeed," he said, "If there is a silver lining in this unfortunate incident, it is that it only serves to underscore the importance of our unity; all three of us."

I couldn't have said it any better myself, _Akio-san. _Oswald thought to himself. He didn't have to say anything; both Frank and Akio were doing all the talking for him. Just like marionettes, they danced to his tune.

"Absolutely, _Akio-san," _Penguin spoke up anyway. "I ask your forgiveness for saying this, but given our age and your age, you are truly wise far beyond your years."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Mask has taken direct shots at two of us, and that means all three of us are hit; whether by a bullet or by shrapnel. I don't like it, but if he wants war, I say we give him one!"

"Agreed," Akio said.

"Hold on, gentlemen!" Oswald raised his voice. Once he had their attention, he took a sip from his glass, and proceeded. "I understand your anger and share in your pain, really I do. But let us first cool our blood and approach this in a civilized manner. I may have a way to end this so-called war before it begins. Will you hear me out, and try what I have in mind? If it doesn't stop the escalation, then we can prepare for a full scale war, and least we can honestly say we tried to prevent it."

Both men were silent in their contemplation for a moment.

"What's on your mind, Oz?" Frank asked finally.

Oswald Cobblepot finally allowed himself the grin he had been suppressing.

_From the notes of Harley Quinzel_

_"Feb 14 (Valentine's Day): _

_I had no idea J was such a talented artist! I should have guessed it, but it totally caught me off guard. I showed up for our session this morning, and wouldn't you know, he had a home-made Valentine waiting for me. It was this card he made himself – that's much more romantic than anything you buy in a store, I say – done up real pretty in the shape of a heart. The color of the heart was purple, and the front of it had a drawing of himself looking all sincere holding a dozen roses (it really is a dozen, I counted), with the caption: 'Dear Harley, do you know who makes me a better man?' and then when you open it there's a fold out picture of him handing the roses to a gal in a red and black jumpsuit wearing a jester cap. You can the gal's face and it's a remarkable likeness of me. The caption inside says: 'You, that's who! Much love, J.'_

_It's really true. For the first time in my whole lousy life, somebody cares about and really needs me. I make J a better man. Maybe I should let him have his ruse, then we can make like I'm curing him. After that, maybe I can keep him in a way that he can live his life right." _

Black Mask got a kick out of the morning paper's front page article; written by Alexander Knox. The headline that greeted the people of Gotham that morning read:

**GANG WAR DAWNS**

**Two prominent figures in Gangland assassinated in weeks following parole of professional hit-man**

It was perfect. Knox wrote that the leader of the Japan town (sometimes called the Scarlett Village by residents) mafia was shot dead, and very shortly after that the heir apparent of the Falcone Family was found, also shot dead. Though Knox did not get into specifics, he did write that the circumstances of both scenes were similar. He also included the fact that Floyd Lawton, more commonly known as Deadshot, was paroled under dubious circumstances just weeks before this pair of hits took place, despite police claims that they would be monitoring his actions closely.

From there, Knox started to editorialize. He argued that one did not have to be the worlds' greatest detective to see the correlation of these events and put the pieces together. It's obvious to anyone, Knox insisted, that whoever paid Harold Dustman off then hired Mr. Lawton to take out the competition. Knox did not name names of potential Dustman's clients; he didn't need to. Since one of the victims was Tony Falcone, that really only left one suspect. Black Mask already knew the Penguin would have covered his tracks by now, but there would still be pressure on him. He had to admit, that southern boy timed his part just right to take out Himura Anjin. That should put a stop to Penguin's consolidation play; especially after showing off he had Deadshot.

"Oh, my God!" a shout rang out.

Black Mask looked up from the paper. The shout and the racket that followed came from downstairs, near the front hall. Tossing the paper aside, Black Mask got up from his easy chair to investigate. By the time he got down the stairs, the commotion had settled into an eerie silence; four of his employees standing in a circle, staring at the floor. He shoved one of them aside to see for himself what they were gawking at.

He couldn't believe his eyes. On the floor was a packing envelope; addressed to his first and last name, return address was Tattoos' pad, with several items tossed around it. First was a wallet-sized photo of Tony Falcone, wearing a bowling shirt and grinning like the moron he was. Second was what looked like a letter, and the third thing looked like some kind of leather mask. Roman picked up the letter, read:

Now we have each lost one. All scores are settled, this ends now.

The sentence structure was plain, simple, to the point. That could be Akio, or it could be Falcone. The writing style was a flowery scrawl that had to be Cobblepot. That could only mean the Penguin knew about Cecil. It wasn't a big deal; all he had to do was give him the heads up to lie low. He handed the letter off to one of his employees and reached down for the mask. As he already had an idea what it was, it was all he could do to keep his hand from trembling as he did. Still, he had to be sure.

It wasn't leather. It was human skin. Black Mask was holding in his hand the tanned remains of the face of Tattoo; it was unmistakeable. It had to be the work of that samurai or ninja woman the Himura kid had shadowing him. Who else would have that kind of precision? Black mask scowled under his mask. Tattoo was one of his first recruits, one of his best men. Clutching the mask of his man, he rushed back upstairs. This wasn't over; but it would be soon.

_Harley's notes_

_"Feb 23:_

_The Board of Directors won't accept my notes anymore. Even Dr. Crane won't look at them. He just tells me I'm doing a good job and sends me away. I guess whatever J has on him is a lot bigger than I thought. It doesn't matter anyway. These notes aren't for them, they're for me. I might share them with my new neighbor at home, Talia. She heard that I was working with J and got real interested. She said she thought it must be scary. It isn't scary at all I tell her. Lately he's been on his best behavior. I think he figured out my plan to 'cure' him so he could walk out of that creepy asylum. We can't do it too fast, though, because nobody would believe that._

4

March

"...and in other news, it would appear that support in favor of the class action suit Oswald Cobblepot, nightclub owner and entrepreneur, has filed in order to compel Gotham Police to pursue and capture the Batman has grown considerably; in particular amongst the Japanese community. Himura Akio, business man and spokesperson for the district of Gotham locals call Scarlet Village, has stated that many members of the community are actually quite frightened of the Dark Knight, and are very concerned his vigilante tactics may soon turn against normal citizens for misdemeanor infractions. He has also stated that it is his personal belief that such methods are in fact the true cause of criminal escalation, and that private citizens should allow the police to their jobs. Himura indicated that he feels it is not only his right, but also his duty as a citizen to stand up for citizens in accordance to the law."

Peering out the window of his cabin in the swamps outside the city limits, Cecil Gold listened intently to the radio which he had tuned to GTHM news. Every time the name Cobblepot or Floyd Lawton came up, his heart skipped a beat; hoping to hear the right bit of news about either one. It hadn't come up yet. There was nothing, ever, about Mask or Tattoo. Mask must have covered up what happened somehow. One thing was clear; the cops had a lot of things all wrong. Deadshot had nothing to do with Anjin getting shot. Maybe he did the Falcone kid, but not Anjin. Right now the radio was running through a gamut of public opinion quotes about the Bat; some saying the Bat is a hero, a symbol of hope, and a force for good in the city. Others were saying the Bat is a vigilante, a menace, and in one or two cases they even called him a bully.

"On that note," the anchor segued, "Mr. Cobblepot has stated recently that while all of the legal ramifications are real and true, that he has to confess that what motivated him to start this litigation was quite simply because he was tired of being targeted."

"Since early childhood, I have always been the target of bullies for being short, fat, and ugly." A recording of Oswald said through the speakers. "This is my way of saying, on behalf of all those who are bullied, enough is enough, and it has to stop."

Next came a promotion for Penguin's big PR stunt; the financing of a 'Let's flock together' anti-bullying campaign. Cecil wanted more than anything to shut the radio off, but he couldn't risk it. There was always a chance that Penguin would give up some kind of tell. He might code it; but it could happen. There was also a chance that the Police might reveal something about the location of Deadshot right now. It was a long shot, but again Cecil was not about to take any chances.

Up until a month ago, maybe less than that, his plan was working out fine. He never should have listened to Dustman and Alvarez with their stupid ploy off the Penguin. It was too soon for that; especially after Penguin managed to buy off Lawton. Mask was right. He should have kept playing lapdog until Cobblepot was right off guard. Then he could have made it all look like an accident, then take back the place that should have been his in the first place. Then the Gold family – which is what Penguins' gang really was – could have worked with the False Face to muscle out the Falcones, and let Himura have Japan Town. Anjin was reasonable about stuff like that; and would have worked out an arrangement to keep his 'Village' self contained. But now, what's done is done, and this is the play they all to make. At least Mask was good enough to give him the heads up. Now he had no choice but to lie low until this played out and the Penguin was dead.

Floyd Lawton stepped out of the computer room at Gotham Public Library and made his way to the nearest exit. It was almost dark now; his research took longer than he expected. His target was harder to track than he anticipated. Maybe he was just a little rusty. It didn't matter now; he found all that he needed. All he needed to now was gear up and head out of town.

_Harley's Notes_

_"Mar 17:_

_If you ever thought it wasn't possible to be wrong and right about something at the same time, let me tell it is! I was wrong and right about J. I was wrong because he isn't faking insanity, but I was right because he isn't insane, neither. The truth is Mr J is a misunderstood genius! These numbskulls have him locked up in here, when they ought to make him President of the United States! The really real truth of it all is they are afraid because he sees the reality they all try to deny. He sees through all the stupid constructs we make for ourselves about right and wrong, good and evil, and all the things we keep telling ourselves is the so-called 'proper' way to be and live. Mr J might be behind bars, but he's the one who's really free. It's enviable, really. The world calls him a psychotic, but in reality he might be the only truly sane person in the world. _

_So Mr J and I appealed to Dr Crane to use one of the quiet rooms for our sessions. At first the Doctor objected, insisting that those rooms were for legal counsel only. Then Mr J argued that our sessions were legal counsel; to discuss if he could legally be considered sane. Crane was reluctant, until my pudding recommended that he think of it as an experiment. Mr J couldn't help but to giggle lightly at that, especially since that seemed to make the Doc capitulate right away. I wonder if that had something to do with whatever he has on him. _

Peering down at the street below, the sniper saw the technician's van was still parked in the service area around back of the Iceberg Lounge. He moved his rig up the building until his scope was trained at the office window of Oswald Cobblepot, who was not in the office at the moment. He was probably downstairs; haggling with the technician about what was taking so long to get the cameras back on line. A light smile touched the corners of the sniper's mouth. Earlier in the day, he had sabotaged them himself. He didn't have to worry about the tech solving the problem; he was already well paid not to until all was done. The tech was also paid to remove any data that would show that anyone was ever perched up here across the street tonight.

Finally the Penguin entered his office. First thing, he went and attended to his bird. The sniper noted two things in this hour before the club opened; first, a line up was already forming at the door, second, Penguin had his back to his window. He probably felt safe behind the bullet proof glass. That was a mistake. To be fair, Penguin didn't make many, but it only takes one. The sniper believed this was it. Truth is neither the glass nor the crowd meant anything; the Professor saw to that. The silencer he designed and built was perfect. As for the glass, well the professor made these rounds extra special for that sort of thing.

Now Cobblepot was taking a call; his back fully exposed. The sniper turned his baseball cap backwards, aligned his sights, and made ready to take the shot.

All geared up, Deadshot found the cabin in the swamp. The light inside was on, and he could see his target's silhouette moving around.

"Don't make it too easy, now," he said to himself with no small degree of contempt. After adjusting his custom made eye scope, Deadshot began making all the necessary preparations.

Master Bruce was in and out of lucidity. The concussion that Croc monster administered must have been more serious than Alfred originally thought. On more than one occasion, Master Bruce had called out for both Masters Richard and Jason. Master Richard Alfred could understand; they had mended fences some time ago. But as far as Alfred knew, Master Jason was still bitter after his resurrection. Rather, that Master Bruce had kept him from eliminating that Joker character. Perhaps it was out of remorse for his part in Master Jason's suffering that triggered the semi-delirious request.

Still, Alfred did all he could to track them both down. He actually managed to find Jason first; much to his surprise. It seemed he was working on something in Chicago, and would think about coming. That was so true to his old attitude. He did find Master Richard eventually, who said he come as soon as he could, though he was in the midst of some serious affairs in Hub City. When Alfred mentioned this to Master Bruce, it appeared to have something of a calming effect on him. It was good to see he still had some humanity left in him after all the years of being the Bat. Alfred believed that humanity, more than anything else was what would heal him.

After he was done with his call, and after the tech left, the issue still unresolved, Cobblepot sat at his desk, back to the window. Knowing the cameras were still out, the sniper trained his weapon dead center to the back of the Penguin's head. It was nice clean line. The sniper's lips curled into a faint smile as his finger rested on the trigger and started to squeeze...

_Whip-CRACK! _

Yelping in a mix of pain and shock, the sniper jumped to his feet as his rifle snapped in two. He turned towards the source of impact just in time to see what looked like a human feline rushing towards him. By the time he realised it was the Catwoman she had already taken to the air and connected with a boot to the head, knocking him flat on his back. She stood above him. As he grasped for his pepper-spray, he easily kicked it out of his hand and reached down to scratch at his eyes. The sniper caught her by the wrist with one hand and the opposite ankle with the other; then he rolled to one side, knocking her off balance enough to regain his footing.

As the sniper clambered to his feet, he was grabbing for his sidearm. She had to admit, he was pretty quick on the draw; though not nearly quick enough. Catwoman leaped away from the line of fire well before he even got the shot off. He stood there puzzled for a second before she cracked her whip to disarm him again. Once he was disarmed, she pounced as he nursed his hand. That did not quite work out as she had hoped; he caught her and grappled her to the rooftop, his forearm pressed against her throat.

"What are you doing?" He hissed at her as she gasped. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

She responded with a knee to the groin, and shoved him aside as he writhed in breathless agony.

"I'm on my side," she replied. "Never think otherwise." Certain she had him; she slinked with confidence towards him. She realised he was playing possum just a little too late; with club in hand, he caught her with an uppercut and tackled her, pushing her towards the ledge of the building.

"You should have stayed out of this, Pussy-cat," he snarled. "Penguin's a menace, a monster! I don't give a damn what the evidence says! He's got to go down!" He leaned on her so that the both of them were hanging over the edge, a good ten stories above the street below.

Gripping onto him for purchase and leverage, Catwoman began to shift her weight little by little. "Not like this he doesn't," she countered. Though she said it mainly to divert him, it also rang true to her ears. It was true that his recent PR stunt was ridiculous to those who knew Oswald Cobblepot, killing him was no answer. She was no angel; she was a burglar, but she was no killer. More than that, she couldn't stand by and let someone kill someone else. There was a line in her morality, and killing was way past that line.

"What do you know?" the sniper nearly shouted in her face, and then quickly composed himself. He was a cop, after all; even if he was dirty. "Well, thanks to you, I have to this a more old fashioned way. As for you, I guess we're going to find out if cats really do always land on their feet." He pressed harder to force her off the edge.

"Not tonight," she said as she twisted out of his grip. Then they both overcompensated for the shift of weight; she landed on her backside with a thump. He went over the edge, and grabbed the rooftop ledge in a panic.

Wide-eyed, Catwoman scrambled to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull him up.

It was no good. The sniper was too heavy. She could him sliding slowly further down, taking her with him.

From his position, Deadshot watched as his target paced in and out of his line of fire from inside the cabin. Maybe he's not as dumb as everyone thought after all, he thought to himself. When it came right down to it, it didn't really matter. Sooner or later, Cecil Gold was a dead man tonight. Deadshot had nothing personal against Gold; to him this was just a job. The fact that he either betrayed Penguin or was playing him all along meant nothing. Cobblepot paid well, so for now he was calling the shots. Sure, Floyd figured. I'm pulling the trigger, but he's aiming the gun.

In desperation, Catwoman freed one of her hands to sling her whip around a nearby pipe; hoping to use it as a rope to pull both of them to safety. Frantic, the sniper gripped her wrist with both hands. She could feel herself being pulled in two directions; the strain was quickly becoming unbearable. Then the unthinkable happened; she lost her grip on the whip and both of them slid over the edge and down to the street waiting below.

For a matter of moments, they seemed to be falling forever, staring each other in the eyes until suddenly something latched to her waist. Almost immediately the sniper shrank as he continued to plummet shrieking as she began to ascend – as if on her way to heaven.

"...This breaking news just in." The radio anchor announced. "Mass confusion and pandemonium has broken out at the Iceberg Lounge. While no official report can be made yet, social media has gone over the top with claims of police cars approaching and sightings of a body. Literally hundreds of Flitter blurbs are pouring in with words like 'sniper' and quotes saying 'he's dead' and 'no way could he live through that'. Once again, there is no official report yet, but..."

Cecil shut off the radio. That's it! He thought. Cobblepot is dead! The Gold Family legacy is mine, as it always should have been.

He watched in silence as Catwoman climbed back onto the rooftop and collected herself. She examined the customized grappling hook, puzzled. Then it was clear what she was thinking as she shot a glance in his direction a few yards away. He was hidden in shadows, so Nightwing stepped out to reveal himself.

"The Boy Wonder, all grown up," she said. "Where have you been, anyway?"

Nightwing detected disappointment in her voice. She was hoping for Batman. Or, he thought, she could be upset at herself; considering the probable fate of the gunman she just tried to save.

"Hub City," he replied.

She looked back toward the ledge as they could hear the sirens draw near.

"He was going to kill Penguin," she said, pointing at the broken rifle. "I couldn't let that happen; not even to a monster like Cobblepot."

"I believe you."

"I was trying to save him." She added, forcing herself to hold back tears. "The sniper, I mean. I never meant..."

"I know," Nightwing cut her off. "You were doing the right thing; it went wrong." He stepped aside, clearing the way past him. "That's why you get a pass tonight."

She regarded him; a little bit confused. The look in her eye suggested she thought it might be a trick. He couldn't blame her for being suspicious.

He took another step back. "Go," he reassured her.

Catwoman was gone.

Cecil shot off the light in his cabin, suddenly aware of how tired he was. Even that cot will be comfortable tonight. He thought. Before retiring, he wanted a cigarette. He gazed out the window to make sure the coast was clear, saw nothing out of the ordinary. Deadshot didn't find the place yet, and with his boss dead, the order was over. Maybe I can buy a contract from him; he thought. I can always use another hitter.

Out of habit, Cecil stepped outside for is smoke. Dad always hated smoking in the cabin. He lit up, took a drag, and exhaled with an overwhelming sense of relief. As he was savoring the smoke and the nicotine, he heard a faint '_pfft' _and felt a sharp pain in his forehead. Before he had the chance to figure out he was shot, he dead, face first on the stoop.

Floyd Lawton stepped out of the woods, his wrist blasters still smoking as he made his way towards the stoop.

"Too easy," he muttered as he shook his head and stamped out the cigarette. Stepping over the body, he went inside to find something to weigh down the body with. In the corner there were at least two dozen gold bars. No use trying to take them, that would be stupid, he thought. But they can be used. He also saw a large amount of gold coins, some of them rare collectibles; very valuable. He took some of those, and stuffed as many bars as he could into the pockets of Cecil's suit.

Once done with that, he dragged the body around back to dump it into the Bayou. Satisfied that it had sunken deep enough, he contacted Penguin to let him know the job was done. 


	5. Epilogue

Shots

1: December

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec. 15: _

_Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, I finally got my opportunity to prove my thesis regarding Jack Napier, aka the Joker. For review, in my original thesis, I put forth the proposition that Mr. Napier is not, in fact, insane. My theory is that he is faking in order to evade a proper trial and the inevitable incarceration that he would face. To understand the validity of this theory, one needs only to observe his behavior closely to notice clear signs of lucidity and even conscience. _

_My first meeting with Jack was considerably less than stellar. He was generally unresponsive to any of my attempts to converse with him in any meaningful manner. Rather, he spent the entire session flirting with me. While flattering, this actually serves to add validity to my theory; clearly he was being evasive in order maintain his cover." _

"We are rolling in three, two..."

Vicky Vale stood just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary, about to cover what would possibly be the biggest story since Killer Croc escaped from Arkham Asylum last month. The fact that nobody has seen nor heard from the Batman since then only serves to amplify the importance of what is happening today, and thank God Knox is nowhere in sight. He was too busy with the Class Action suit that Oswald Cobblepot initiated almost immediately after Croc was recaptured. If she did this right, she might be able to scoop him on that, too.

"Good afternoon, Gotham!" Vicky greeted into the camera as soon as the cameraman gave her the signal. "This is Vicky Vale with channel 6 news. At this very moment, I am standing just outside the gates of Gotham Penitentiary where an unexpected turn of events has taken place and Floyd Lawton, also known as the notorious gunman Deadshot, has been granted Parole. Why this is unexpected is because initial reports indicated that his application for Parole was expected to be denied, but for reasons that are not yet clear, that decision was suddenly overturned and his Parole was granted."

A camera flash caught her eye. Being a professional and on camera live herself; she did not blink. Neither did she frown when she saw the source of the flash; it was Alexander Knox and his slippery photographer. They made it to the show after all.

"Standing here with me is Sergeant Janine Toussaint of the Gotham PD," Vicky continued. "Sergeant, what can you say to the people of Gotham about this unlikely turn of events?"

"Only that it was unexpected, and that the Police will be keeping a close eye on Mr. Lawton." Toussaint replied.

"Is that to say, then, that Commissioner Gordon disagrees with this decision?" Vicky asked. In her mind, this was a rhetorical question that needed to be asked. It was well documented that James Gordon played a key role along with Batman in the capture of Deadshot; much like Toussaint did in the recapture of Killer Croc one month ago.

"He has his doubts that Mr. Lawton is suitable to be allowed back into society, yes."

"The question the people of Gotham really want answered, Sergeant," Knox barged in, "is how did this happen; is this in any way connected to the Mob?"

"What we do know," Toussaint responded, "is that attorney Harold Dustman appeared late in Mr. Lawton's hearing to represent him, and shortly after that Parole was granted."

"What about the fact that Dustman is known to have a client list that includes the likes of the Falcone family and Oswald Cobblepot in addition to Deadshot?" Knox pressed. "Is there any speculation that either of them is in any way related to the decision to grant this known assassin Parole? Do the Police know if either of them is planning on hiring him? And if so, to what end, and how do the Police intend to keep the people of Gotham safe now that the Batman has gone into hiding, clearly to avoid being arrested?"

"No comment." Toussaint said plainly. She wanted desperately to tear one off of Knox, but she knew she couldn't do that. Gordon's Police Force doesn't do that. While it was true that Cobblepot had gained enough support in his Class Action suit to put the screws to Gordon to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Dark Knight, scumbags like Knox spun the matter so far sideways it wasn't even worth tabloid coverage, let alone news. Batman wasn't hiding; he was recovering after the beating he took last month. She wasn't even back to 100%, and he got it ten times as bad as she did.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Here he comes!"

All attention turned away from the Sergeant and towards the activity inside the gate as they started to slowly open. On the other side, Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, was being escorted out of Gotham Penitentiary by two armed guards, and was accompanied by Harold Dustman, Attorney at Law.

Vicky Vale nudged her way towards the pair as they exited the gate, making certain that Alexander Knox was well and far behind her.

"Mr. Lawton!" she called out. "Do you have anything to say now that you are a free man?"

Floyd stopped, turned, and smiled at the camera with a casual shrug. "What can I say?" he replied, "I guess there really is a Santa Claus," he paused with a wink, "Merry Christmas, everybody."

With that, at Dustman's urging, they pressed on towards a car waiting for them on the street. Dustman opened rear passenger door and let his client in.

"Hey, Deadshot," Knox called from a distance, tape recorder held high overhead. "What do you have to say about the speculation that you were set free as part of a fee for a big hit?"

"My client has no further comments at this time, thank you!" Dustman called back, closing the passenger door. Without another word he then opened the passenger front door of the car, and let himself in. Before anybody else could get a coherent question out, the car drove away.

Inside the car, Floyd couldn't help but chuckle.

Harold glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't very smart, you know," he said. "I thought I told you to say nothing to the press or anyone until we got into the car."

Floyd scoffed. "Relax." He said. "I wouldn't have given anything up. Besides, making smartass remarks like that is kind of my trademark."

"Exactly my point, Floyd," Dustman retorted. "You are supposed to be rehabilitated; a changed man who has learned his lesson."

"Whatever," Floyd dismissed the admonishment. "So where are we going now, anyway?"

Dustman grinned. "I want you to meet somebody."

_Taken from the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 21:_

_I'm finally making some progress with Jack. Today he opened up a little bit and started talking about his childhood. He claimed that his father was an abusive drunk with a severe gambling problem, which led first to the death of his mother and then his father at the hands of the Falcone family; specifically one of their goons named Cyrus Gold. I take note that Cyrus Gold was a notorious criminal long ago. Just how old is Jack, anyway? _

_His narrative also included accounts of abusive language towards himself and his mother, as well as numerous severe beatings in their crappy apartment in the poor district. I can relate to that, which is why it was really quite the trick for me not to fall into his attempts to trick me into making our conversation about me. I should add here that Jack is obviously a very intelligent man, and that I get the sense that any post secondary education he may have is likely based on scholarships rather than being able to afford enrollment. Again, this is something I can identify with. _

_Somehow it must have gotten out that I too have no parents or siblings, because at the end of our session, Jack invited me to join him Christmas Eve for dinner. As this showed signs of compassion which adds even more validity to my theory, I accepted, on the condition that it was clear to him that this dinner was not a date. He readily agreed." _

Alvarez ushered the sniper into a back service entrance to the Estate once he was certain nobody had eyes on them. He closed the door quietly and led the sniper up a set of stairs and down a hallway which led to a small apartment within the Estate on the Hill. At the door of the apartment, Alvarez stopped the sniper and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Lt. Brian Dustman on the other side. Brian nodded at Alvarez, looked the sniper over, and nodded in approval before letting them in.

Inside, the sniper recognized Brian right away, and of course he knew Alvarez. The room they were in was a small front room that served as an office; there was a desk directly in front of him, and behind the desk was a man whose facial features could not be made due to the positioning of the lighting in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" the man behind the desk asked. He had a slight southern twang to his voice, which the sniper immediately recognized; he'd heard it before.

"Yes, sir." He replied politely.

The man cleared his throat. As if this was a signal, Brian started to reach into his coat for his sidearm.

"Let's try that again." The man said. "Do you know who I am?"

The sniper caught on this time. "No sir, I do not." He said. "I've never seen your face."

"That's better." The man said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I only know what I need to know."

"I like that." The man said, impressed. From his desk he pulled up a sheet, which he handed to Brian, who was standing beside him. "Go on," the man said to Brian. "Hand the gentleman that last piece of information he needs."

Brian Dustman stepped across the office and handed the sniper the paper. The sniper took it and saw that it was a photograph. The sniper smiled.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, sir, I do." The sniper said.

"Do you know how to find him?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"That man is your target." The man behind the desk explained. "You will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir."

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Dec 25:_

_Merry Christmas! I have to admit, dinner with Jack last night was fantastic! I had no idea the cooks at Arkham could put together such a fabulous spread! Jack was surprisingly charming and disarming, and even wore a Santa hat the whole time. To his credit, he went out of his way to make sure it was not a date. While somewhat adolescent, his calling it 'not a date' all night long was really quite an entertaining gag which never quite got old. He really does have quite the sense of humor; he even shared in the laughter when he spilled the Christmas pudding in his own lap. He made light of it by saying 'just call me pudding from now on!' How we both laughed long and loud at that. _

_I think I'm starting to win him over."_

2: January

The conference room fell silent the moment Oswald Cobblepot stepped in. Just seconds before, two of three men inside were bickering – albeit behind a translucent veil of polite hostility – over a combination of cultural differences and on ongoing dispute over gambling territories. The third man sat back and let the other two have at it; observing with only the most fleeting of interest.

In truth, before the Penguin made his appearance, there were a total five men and one woman in the room; each of the men had brought one bodyguard, as was permitted for this meeting. Cobblepot, accompanied by Bruno, made up a sum total of eight in the room. Before he spoke, Oswald did a quick scan of the room visually to account for who was present and where they situated themselves; taking specific note that all of them made a point of being sure they had their backs neither to the door nor to the large window.

First, there was Frank Falcone of the Falcone Family. Nothing needed to be said about him; he was, apart from Penguin himself, the true veteran of the business. His family had been at it for several generations before he was even born. Frank was born, bred, and trained all his life to carry on the Family tradition. His escort was Tony; his son and heir apparent. In appearance, he was very much a younger version of dear old dad, though it was no secret to anyone in the room that Tony was the finest fruit from the Falcone family tree. Perhaps Frank was hoping he could teach the poor boy something today.

Next was Himura Akio; by no means an upstart, but recent transplant from Japan to take over Japan town after the recent death Himura Anjin. Little beyond that was known about him. His escort was the woman, who was very thoroughly covered so as to not be clearly identified. It was Akio and Frank who were bickering. Apparently, some of Akio's advances had stepped on Frank's toes somehow. As he had hoped, his litigation against the Bat had put a cork in that dispute; at least for now, as both parties were quick to join in on the Class Action suit.

None were as quick to join as the third man; who was most commonly known as Black Mask. Since this was Penguin's chief rival of late, some may have been surprised at his cooperation so far. Cobblepot was not. Mask's hatred for Batman was so intense it could be played upon; anything that might hurt the Bat, Black Mask was likely to want to be part of it. The real question was; could he be trusted? The answer was; of course not! Part of the reason he was invited was to be able to watch him closely and see what his next move would be. Mask had brought with him one of his goons; the one with the tattoos.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" Penguin greeted. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Get to the point, Bird-man," Black Mask said sharply. "And this better be good."

"Hey, shut up, freak!" Tony blurted out. Before he could say anything more, Frank raised a hand to silence his son.

"I apologize on behalf of my son," he said in calm, measured tones. "Etiquette has never been a strong point for him. What Tony is trying to say, Mask, is that if you insist on interrupting our host, it will only take him that much longer to get to the point, as you so eloquently put it." He turned his attention over to Penguin. "Please, continue."

Oswald gave a courtesan bow to Frank. The two had developed a deep respect for each other; it was well earned on both ends. Over a long many years, the two had managed to stay out of each other's way; and had in fact risen to their current stations alongside each other as a result.

"Let me start by saying thank you to you all for your support in my Class Action suit." Oswald said. "As I am sure you all aware, it has to date proven quite successful in neutralizing the Bat and his efforts to meddle in our affairs. While I'm sure each of you may have heard that you have all heard that it was Killer Croc who put the Bat on the shelf, I ask you; when has the Dark Knight ever left us alone due to physical duress?"

All three of them remained silent.

Oswald continued: "So now that we have seen that it is possible for all of us to cooperate with each other, I come to you with a proposition: We consolidate our networks and operate as four cells of one greater organism. Each of us would have territories and specialized fields in which we oversee all operations, and we all share in the overall profit margin."

"Rather than fight each other, or work as separate entities, we operate as a community." Akio said quietly, as if to confirm.

"_Hai, Akio-san." _Penguin replied with a bow. Though his Japanese was very limited, he had hoped the effort would earn him some favor with the new head of the Himura Clan.

Akio nodded once. "A divided village has no foundation and quickly falls, but a village in harmony with itself can withstand much."

"Tell me something, Oz," Frank chimed in. "How would we decide who runs what in this model of yours?"

"That, Mr. Falcone, is what we are here to work out."

Black Mask picked up the Martini glass in front of him from the table. "Before you three get too deep in your love fest," he interceded, "Let me ask you something; who's going to chair this council of bosses? Are you guys really going to let Penguin here bamboozle you that easy? Don't get me wrong, I get the whole strength and safety in numbers deal, but why should any of us let him be the man in charge?"

As Black Mask started to bring the glass to his lips, Penguin cleared his throat. That exact moment, a bullet shot through the window alongside them and shattered the stem of the glass Black Mask was holding. Black Mask shouted in surprise.

The goon with the tattoos pulled out a .45 and trained it on Penguin.

Bruno pulled out a .45 and trained it on the goon.

Tony Falcone pulled out a .44, uncertain who to train it on.

The woman pulled out a sword, ready to strike anyone who got too close to Akio down. Penguin had no idea where the sword came from.

Himura Akio extended an arm to halt his guard and spoke quickly to her in Japanese. He spoke too quickly for Oswald to catch the specific words; but he was able to get a general idea. It was something about a show of strength, and something about how rude the masked man was being. The woman put her blade away and bowed reverently.

Only Cobblepot himself and Frank Falcone remained unmoved.

Once everyone put their weapons away, Penguin spoke: "If the arrangement as it stands now is not to your liking, Roman, you are free to leave this table with no further incident."

Black Mask guffawed, checked his hand one more time for any wounds, and finding none he got up from his chair and left the room. Tattoos followed.

Penguin watched carefully as they left. Once they were gone, he returned his attention to the remaining pair.

"Now," he said, "shall we begin discussing the specifics of our consolidated Community?"

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Jan 10:_

_I was right! Jack is starting to really soften up to me! There's still a lot of flirting from him, but that's actually become kind of fun. When we do get to an actual conversation in our sessions, he really opens up. The whole thing is really very heartbreaking once you know what he went through. He tried to do things legit, but those Falcones kept pushing him to pay off his father's debts until poor Jack could only see one way out. That was why he created the Red Hood personae. 'I mean the real Red Hood, not that fashion rebel imposter that's out there now!' he says_. _The original idea was to create a figure which would make a gang to take out the Falcones, be the one on top of the entire network, and then vanish forever, leaving the Criminal world in chaos. If you think about it, his original objective was really heroic. He even took down Cyrus Gold in the process. His plan would have worked, too, 'if the Dork Knight didn't interfere.' As a note, I point out that this kind of strategy shows a definite clarity of thought and methodology, which goes again to prove my thesis that Jack Napier is not insane."_

The Bird-Man had Deadshot on his payroll. It had to be him. That shot was too perfect to be anybody else. I'm no slouch when it comes to shooting, but even I couldn't have made that shot. Just the stem of the glass I was holding, and not a scratch on my hand. I have to admit, when he says that he never misses, he can back that up.

Beneath his mask, Black Mask grimaced. Smart money said that by now, Penguin had his new hired gun tracking and watching him; Waiting for him to make his first move. It didn't matter; his first move was already made, and none of them even knew it yet. His agentshad both of the other guests' cars bugged, and he was able to hear their conversations immediately after their conference. Falcone was being smart, and choosing his words carefully. All he could really get was that this Community deal was better than going to war, which gets costly. This was told to his dimwit son in a fashion that was like drawing a picture out of words. Bugging Akio was, for now, a pointless endeavor; in private he spoke only Japanese. Roman made a note to get a translator.

There was a knock on the door; the sequence of the knocking was the correct code for Tattoo.

"Come in."

Tattoo opened the door with one hand. Under his arm he was carrying a package.

"This just came in from our new man, boss." Tattoo said, holding the package out. "I checked it, it's clean."

"Give it here."

Tattoo came into the office and placed the flat, oblong box on his desk, then turned to leave.

"Stay, Tattoo." Black Mask ordered. "If this is what it's supposed to be, I'll be calling you back in to take it to the Professor, anyway."

After Tattoo stopped and turned around, Roman opened the box. There it was, just as promised. Beneath his mask, Roman smiled.

It was one of the Bat's famous utility belts.

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel:_

_"Jan 21:_

_Jack started off in very cheerful mood today; more so than usual. According to him, today would have been his mother's birthday. We talked at length about his mother. It appears she was really the one bright point in his otherwise impossible life. I'll admit I sort of missed his flirtations today, but then it was his mom we were talking about. I guess it's fair that she get all his attention one day of the year. Very briefly, he shed a tear or two, indicating how much he still misses her. I guess it's actually very generous of him to otherwise give me his attention undivided. He brightened up quickly enough, saying that now he had me to talk to, and that I sort of reminded him of her. _

_What an absolute sweetheart thing to say!"_

The Penguin was still fuming. So much, in fact, that it was difficult to maintain his composure. How long had this treachery been going on?

Less than two weeks ago, he received a text message from Deadshot. It was a report on his surveillance of Black Mask. The text was still burned in his memory:

Package received from new man. Merchandise confirmed; Gold.

Black Mask had infiltrated his inner circle. Even now he found it hard to believe that Cecil was a traitor! It was either him or Brian; possibly both. The merchandise in question and confirmed was the Bat's belt that Brian had acquired from the sewers some two months ago. Upon receiving the message, Oswald Cobblepot typed a reply, complete with instructions regarding the when and where to deal with this problem.

3  
February

_From the notes of Harleen Quinzel_

_"Feb 5:_

_The Board of Directors are a bunch of complete numbskulls! They're trying to tell me I'm off base with my theories about Jack, and now they want me off his case! My thesis and my theory are ridiculous, they say. You want to talk about ridiculous? I'm the only one Jack opens up to, and they want to pull the plug on all my hard work; that's what's ridiculous! My conduct with him is unethical, they say. What's unethical about doing whatever it takes to reach him? _

_Well, that's the story of my life; right there. Just when I start making something of myself, whoosh! Some pencil pushing pansy comes along and spoils everything. I guess I got to go and break the bad news to Jack..._

_Feb 7:_

_I'm still in the picture, baby! Thanks to Jack, the Board of Directors reversed their decision, on order of Dr. Crane himself. You can't beat that, can you?_

_'Now don't you cry, Harley,' he soothed when I told him what was happening. 'I can fix this.' (That's what he has taken to calling me lately – Harley. I like it.)_

_He sure did! He insisted that I stay; that I was the only one he would see. How great is that? My whole life I'm just plain old brainy nerd-girl Harleen that nobody gave any thought to at all, and now I mean something to somebody. Now I'm Harley. Jack also told me in strictest confidence that he had something on Dr. Crane; something that would expose his lack of ethics. He didn't say what, and I didn't ask. It doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is that my pudding came through for me."_

Frank Falcone slammed his fist on the table at the Iceberg Lounge, shaking the glasses the other two men had in front of them. For his own part, Penguin had to put in an effort to suppress a grin; he had never seen Frank this agitated, not even when the original Red Hood killed his father and predecessor Mario. The third man, Himura Akio, showed no emotion. His female escort stood at the front entrance of the Lounge as sentry, arms crossed. Neither Cobblepot nor Falcone had escorts for this meeting. Frank had just finished telling them how he found his son, Tony, dead in his home. Tony was placed in his easy chair, facing the big screen television, shot in the heart. As a calling card or a message, the assassin had fastened a black wooden mask to Tony's face with superglue.

"You have the condolences of the Himura Clan, _Falcone-san._" Akio said. "With the killing of my uncle under similar circumstances, it appears we have ourselves a common foe, _neh?_"

"I just finished telling the kid that the last thing we need is war," Frank said grimly. "I guess that's what you call irony, ain't it?"

Akio nodded once to indicate he agreed. "Indeed," he said, "If there is a silver lining in this unfortunate incident, it is that it only serves to underscore the importance of our unity; all three of us."

I couldn't have said it any better myself, _Akio-san. _Oswald thought to himself. He didn't have to say anything; both Frank and Akio were doing all the talking for him. Just like marionettes, they danced to his tune.

"Absolutely, _Akio-san," _Penguin spoke up anyway. "I ask your forgiveness for saying this, but given our age and your age, you are truly wise far beyond your years."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Mask has taken direct shots at two of us, and that means all three of us are hit; whether by a bullet or by shrapnel. I don't like it, but if he wants war, I say we give him one!"

"Agreed," Akio said.

"Hold on, gentlemen!" Oswald raised his voice. Once he had their attention, he took a sip from his glass, and proceeded. "I understand your anger and share in your pain, really I do. But let us first cool our blood and approach this in a civilized manner. I may have a way to end this so-called war before it begins. Will you hear me out, and try what I have in mind? If it doesn't stop the escalation, then we can prepare for a full scale war, and least we can honestly say we tried to prevent it."

Both men were silent in their contemplation for a moment.

"What's on your mind, Oz?" Frank asked finally.

Oswald Cobblepot finally allowed himself the grin he had been suppressing.

_From the notes of Harley Quinzel_

_"Feb 14 (Valentine's Day): _

_I had no idea J was such a talented artist! I should have guessed it, but it totally caught me off guard. I showed up for our session this morning, and wouldn't you know, he had a home-made Valentine waiting for me. It was this card he made himself – that's much more romantic than anything you buy in a store, I say – done up real pretty in the shape of a heart. The color of the heart was purple, and the front of it had a drawing of himself looking all sincere holding a dozen roses (it really is a dozen, I counted), with the caption: 'Dear Harley, do you know who makes me a better man?' and then when you open it there's a fold out picture of him handing the roses to a gal in a red and black jumpsuit wearing a jester cap. You can the gal's face and it's a remarkable likeness of me. The caption inside says: 'You, that's who! Much love, J.'_

_It's really true. For the first time in my whole lousy life, somebody cares about and really needs me. I make J a better man. Maybe I should let him have his ruse, then we can make like I'm curing him. After that, maybe I can keep him in a way that he can live his life right." _

Black Mask got a kick out of the morning paper's front page article; written by Alexander Knox. The headline that greeted the people of Gotham that morning read:

**GANG WAR DAWNS**

**Two prominent figures in Gangland assassinated in weeks following parole of professional hit-man**

It was perfect. Knox wrote that the leader of the Japan town (sometimes called the Scarlett Village by residents) mafia was shot dead, and very shortly after that the heir apparent of the Falcone Family was found, also shot dead. Though Knox did not get into specifics, he did write that the circumstances of both scenes were similar. He also included the fact that Floyd Lawton, more commonly known as Deadshot, was paroled under dubious circumstances just weeks before this pair of hits took place, despite police claims that they would be monitoring his actions closely.

From there, Knox started to editorialize. He argued that one did not have to be the worlds' greatest detective to see the correlation of these events and put the pieces together. It's obvious to anyone, Knox insisted, that whoever paid Harold Dustman off then hired Mr. Lawton to take out the competition. Knox did not name names of potential Dustman's clients; he didn't need to. Since one of the victims was Tony Falcone, that really only left one suspect. Black Mask already knew the Penguin would have covered his tracks by now, but there would still be pressure on him. He had to admit, that southern boy timed his part just right to take out Himura Anjin. That should put a stop to Penguin's consolidation play; especially after showing off he had Deadshot.

"Oh, my God!" a shout rang out.

Black Mask looked up from the paper. The shout and the racket that followed came from downstairs, near the front hall. Tossing the paper aside, Black Mask got up from his easy chair to investigate. By the time he got down the stairs, the commotion had settled into an eerie silence; four of his employees standing in a circle, staring at the floor. He shoved one of them aside to see for himself what they were gawking at.

He couldn't believe his eyes. On the floor was a packing envelope; addressed to his first and last name, return address was Tattoos' pad, with several items tossed around it. First was a wallet-sized photo of Tony Falcone, wearing a bowling shirt and grinning like the moron he was. Second was what looked like a letter, and the third thing looked like some kind of leather mask. Roman picked up the letter, read:

Now we have each lost one. All scores are settled, this ends now.

The sentence structure was plain, simple, to the point. That could be Akio, or it could be Falcone. The writing style was a flowery scrawl that had to be Cobblepot. That could only mean the Penguin knew about Cecil. It wasn't a big deal; all he had to do was give him the heads up to lie low. He handed the letter off to one of his employees and reached down for the mask. As he already had an idea what it was, it was all he could do to keep his hand from trembling as he did. Still, he had to be sure.

It wasn't leather. It was human skin. Black Mask was holding in his hand the tanned remains of the face of Tattoo; it was unmistakeable. It had to be the work of that samurai or ninja woman the Himura kid had shadowing him. Who else would have that kind of precision? Black mask scowled under his mask. Tattoo was one of his first recruits, one of his best men. Clutching the mask of his man, he rushed back upstairs. This wasn't over; but it would be soon.

_Harley's notes_

_"Feb 23:_

_The Board of Directors won't accept my notes anymore. Even Dr. Crane won't look at them. He just tells me I'm doing a good job and sends me away. I guess whatever J has on him is a lot bigger than I thought. It doesn't matter anyway. These notes aren't for them, they're for me. I might share them with my new neighbor at home, Talia. She heard that I was working with J and got real interested. She said she thought it must be scary. It isn't scary at all I tell her. Lately he's been on his best behavior. I think he figured out my plan to 'cure' him so he could walk out of that creepy asylum. We can't do it too fast, though, because nobody would believe that._

4

March

"...and in other news, it would appear that support in favor of the class action suit Oswald Cobblepot, nightclub owner and entrepreneur, has filed in order to compel Gotham Police to pursue and capture the Batman has grown considerably; in particular amongst the Japanese community. Himura Akio, business man and spokesperson for the district of Gotham locals call Scarlet Village, has stated that many members of the community are actually quite frightened of the Dark Knight, and are very concerned his vigilante tactics may soon turn against normal citizens for misdemeanor infractions. He has also stated that it is his personal belief that such methods are in fact the true cause of criminal escalation, and that private citizens should allow the police to their jobs. Himura indicated that he feels it is not only his right, but also his duty as a citizen to stand up for citizens in accordance to the law."

Peering out the window of his cabin in the swamps outside the city limits, Cecil Gold listened intently to the radio which he had tuned to GTHM news. Every time the name Cobblepot or Floyd Lawton came up, his heart skipped a beat; hoping to hear the right bit of news about either one. It hadn't come up yet. There was nothing, ever, about Mask or Tattoo. Mask must have covered up what happened somehow. One thing was clear; the cops had a lot of things all wrong. Deadshot had nothing to do with Anjin getting shot. Maybe he did the Falcone kid, but not Anjin. Right now the radio was running through a gamut of public opinion quotes about the Bat; some saying the Bat is a hero, a symbol of hope, and a force for good in the city. Others were saying the Bat is a vigilante, a menace, and in one or two cases they even called him a bully.

"On that note," the anchor segued, "Mr. Cobblepot has stated recently that while all of the legal ramifications are real and true, that he has to confess that what motivated him to start this litigation was quite simply because he was tired of being targeted."

"Since early childhood, I have always been the target of bullies for being short, fat, and ugly." A recording of Oswald said through the speakers. "This is my way of saying, on behalf of all those who are bullied, enough is enough, and it has to stop."

Next came a promotion for Penguin's big PR stunt; the financing of a 'Let's flock together' anti-bullying campaign. Cecil wanted more than anything to shut the radio off, but he couldn't risk it. There was always a chance that Penguin would give up some kind of tell. He might code it; but it could happen. There was also a chance that the Police might reveal something about the location of Deadshot right now. It was a long shot, but again Cecil was not about to take any chances.

Up until a month ago, maybe less than that, his plan was working out fine. He never should have listened to Dustman and Alvarez with their stupid ploy off the Penguin. It was too soon for that; especially after Penguin managed to buy off Lawton. Mask was right. He should have kept playing lapdog until Cobblepot was right off guard. Then he could have made it all look like an accident, then take back the place that should have been his in the first place. Then the Gold family – which is what Penguins' gang really was – could have worked with the False Face to muscle out the Falcones, and let Himura have Japan Town. Anjin was reasonable about stuff like that; and would have worked out an arrangement to keep his 'Village' self contained. But now, what's done is done, and this is the play they all to make. At least Mask was good enough to give him the heads up. Now he had no choice but to lie low until this played out and the Penguin was dead.

Floyd Lawton stepped out of the computer room at Gotham Public Library and made his way to the nearest exit. It was almost dark now; his research took longer than he expected. His target was harder to track than he anticipated. Maybe he was just a little rusty. It didn't matter now; he found all that he needed. All he needed to now was gear up and head out of town.

_Harley's Notes_

_"Mar 17:_

_If you ever thought it wasn't possible to be wrong and right about something at the same time, let me tell it is! I was wrong and right about J. I was wrong because he isn't faking insanity, but I was right because he isn't insane, neither. The truth is Mr J is a misunderstood genius! These numbskulls have him locked up in here, when they ought to make him President of the United States! The really real truth of it all is they are afraid because he sees the reality they all try to deny. He sees through all the stupid constructs we make for ourselves about right and wrong, good and evil, and all the things we keep telling ourselves is the so-called 'proper' way to be and live. Mr J might be behind bars, but he's the one who's really free. It's enviable, really. The world calls him a psychotic, but in reality he might be the only truly sane person in the world. _

_So Mr J and I appealed to Dr Crane to use one of the quiet rooms for our sessions. At first the Doctor objected, insisting that those rooms were for legal counsel only. Then Mr J argued that our sessions were legal counsel; to discuss if he could legally be considered sane. Crane was reluctant, until my pudding recommended that he think of it as an experiment. Mr J couldn't help but to giggle lightly at that, especially since that seemed to make the Doc capitulate right away. I wonder if that had something to do with whatever he has on him. _

Peering down at the street below, the sniper saw the technician's van was still parked in the service area around back of the Iceberg Lounge. He moved his rig up the building until his scope was trained at the office window of Oswald Cobblepot, who was not in the office at the moment. He was probably downstairs; haggling with the technician about what was taking so long to get the cameras back on line. A light smile touched the corners of the sniper's mouth. Earlier in the day, he had sabotaged them himself. He didn't have to worry about the tech solving the problem; he was already well paid not to until all was done. The tech was also paid to remove any data that would show that anyone was ever perched up here across the street tonight.

Finally the Penguin entered his office. First thing, he went and attended to his bird. The sniper noted two things in this hour before the club opened; first, a line up was already forming at the door, second, Penguin had his back to his window. He probably felt safe behind the bullet proof glass. That was a mistake. To be fair, Penguin didn't make many, but it only takes one. The sniper believed this was it. Truth is neither the glass nor the crowd meant anything; the Professor saw to that. The silencer he designed and built was perfect. As for the glass, well the professor made these rounds extra special for that sort of thing.

Now Cobblepot was taking a call; his back fully exposed. The sniper turned his baseball cap backwards, aligned his sights, and made ready to take the shot.

All geared up, Deadshot found the cabin in the swamp. The light inside was on, and he could see his target's silhouette moving around.

"Don't make it too easy, now," he said to himself with no small degree of contempt. After adjusting his custom made eye scope, Deadshot began making all the necessary preparations.

Master Bruce was in and out of lucidity. The concussion that Croc monster administered must have been more serious than Alfred originally thought. On more than one occasion, Master Bruce had called out for both Masters Richard and Jason. Master Richard Alfred could understand; they had mended fences some time ago. But as far as Alfred knew, Master Jason was still bitter after his resurrection. Rather, that Master Bruce had kept him from eliminating that Joker character. Perhaps it was out of remorse for his part in Master Jason's suffering that triggered the semi-delirious request.

Still, Alfred did all he could to track them both down. He actually managed to find Jason first; much to his surprise. It seemed he was working on something in Chicago, and would think about coming. That was so true to his old attitude. He did find Master Richard eventually, who said he come as soon as he could, though he was in the midst of some serious affairs in Hub City. When Alfred mentioned this to Master Bruce, it appeared to have something of a calming effect on him. It was good to see he still had some humanity left in him after all the years of being the Bat. Alfred believed that humanity, more than anything else was what would heal him.

After he was done with his call, and after the tech left, the issue still unresolved, Cobblepot sat at his desk, back to the window. Knowing the cameras were still out, the sniper trained his weapon dead center to the back of the Penguin's head. It was nice clean line. The sniper's lips curled into a faint smile as his finger rested on the trigger and started to squeeze...

_Whip-CRACK! _

Yelping in a mix of pain and shock, the sniper jumped to his feet as his rifle snapped in two. He turned towards the source of impact just in time to see what looked like a human feline rushing towards him. By the time he realised it was the Catwoman she had already taken to the air and connected with a boot to the head, knocking him flat on his back. She stood above him. As he grasped for his pepper-spray, he easily kicked it out of his hand and reached down to scratch at his eyes. The sniper caught her by the wrist with one hand and the opposite ankle with the other; then he rolled to one side, knocking her off balance enough to regain his footing.

As the sniper clambered to his feet, he was grabbing for his sidearm. She had to admit, he was pretty quick on the draw; though not nearly quick enough. Catwoman leaped away from the line of fire well before he even got the shot off. He stood there puzzled for a second before she cracked her whip to disarm him again. Once he was disarmed, she pounced as he nursed his hand. That did not quite work out as she had hoped; he caught her and grappled her to the rooftop, his forearm pressed against her throat.

"What are you doing?" He hissed at her as she gasped. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

She responded with a knee to the groin, and shoved him aside as he writhed in breathless agony.

"I'm on my side," she replied. "Never think otherwise." Certain she had him; she slinked with confidence towards him. She realised he was playing possum just a little too late; with club in hand, he caught her with an uppercut and tackled her, pushing her towards the ledge of the building.

"You should have stayed out of this, Pussy-cat," he snarled. "Penguin's a menace, a monster! I don't give a damn what the evidence says! He's got to go down!" He leaned on her so that the both of them were hanging over the edge, a good ten stories above the street below.

Gripping onto him for purchase and leverage, Catwoman began to shift her weight little by little. "Not like this he doesn't," she countered. Though she said it mainly to divert him, it also rang true to her ears. It was true that his recent PR stunt was ridiculous to those who knew Oswald Cobblepot, killing him was no answer. She was no angel; she was a burglar, but she was no killer. More than that, she couldn't stand by and let someone kill someone else. There was a line in her morality, and killing was way past that line.

"What do you know?" the sniper nearly shouted in her face, and then quickly composed himself. He was a cop, after all; even if he was dirty. "Well, thanks to you, I have to this a more old fashioned way. As for you, I guess we're going to find out if cats really do always land on their feet." He pressed harder to force her off the edge.

"Not tonight," she said as she twisted out of his grip. Then they both overcompensated for the shift of weight; she landed on her backside with a thump. He went over the edge, and grabbed the rooftop ledge in a panic.

Wide-eyed, Catwoman scrambled to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull him up.

It was no good. The sniper was too heavy. She could him sliding slowly further down, taking her with him.

From his position, Deadshot watched as his target paced in and out of his line of fire from inside the cabin. Maybe he's not as dumb as everyone thought after all, he thought to himself. When it came right down to it, it didn't really matter. Sooner or later, Cecil Gold was a dead man tonight. Deadshot had nothing personal against Gold; to him this was just a job. The fact that he either betrayed Penguin or was playing him all along meant nothing. Cobblepot paid well, so for now he was calling the shots. Sure, Floyd figured. I'm pulling the trigger, but he's aiming the gun.

In desperation, Catwoman freed one of her hands to sling her whip around a nearby pipe; hoping to use it as a rope to pull both of them to safety. Frantic, the sniper gripped her wrist with both hands. She could feel herself being pulled in two directions; the strain was quickly becoming unbearable. Then the unthinkable happened; she lost her grip on the whip and both of them slid over the edge and down to the street waiting below.

For a matter of moments, they seemed to be falling forever, staring each other in the eyes until suddenly something latched to her waist. Almost immediately the sniper shrank as he continued to plummet shrieking as she began to ascend – as if on her way to heaven.

"...This breaking news just in." The radio anchor announced. "Mass confusion and pandemonium has broken out at the Iceberg Lounge. While no official report can be made yet, social media has gone over the top with claims of police cars approaching and sightings of a body. Literally hundreds of Flitter blurbs are pouring in with words like 'sniper' and quotes saying 'he's dead' and 'no way could he live through that'. Once again, there is no official report yet, but..."

Cecil shut off the radio. That's it! He thought. Cobblepot is dead! The Gold Family legacy is mine, as it always should have been.

He watched in silence as Catwoman climbed back onto the rooftop and collected herself. She examined the customized grappling hook, puzzled. Then it was clear what she was thinking as she shot a glance in his direction a few yards away. He was hidden in shadows, so Nightwing stepped out to reveal himself.

"The Boy Wonder, all grown up," she said. "Where have you been, anyway?"

Nightwing detected disappointment in her voice. She was hoping for Batman. Or, he thought, she could be upset at herself; considering the probable fate of the gunman she just tried to save.

"Hub City," he replied.

She looked back toward the ledge as they could hear the sirens draw near.

"He was going to kill Penguin," she said, pointing at the broken rifle. "I couldn't let that happen; not even to a monster like Cobblepot."

"I believe you."

"I was trying to save him." She added, forcing herself to hold back tears. "The sniper, I mean. I never meant..."

"I know," Nightwing cut her off. "You were doing the right thing; it went wrong." He stepped aside, clearing the way past him. "That's why you get a pass tonight."

She regarded him; a little bit confused. The look in her eye suggested she thought it might be a trick. He couldn't blame her for being suspicious.

He took another step back. "Go," he reassured her.

Catwoman was gone.

Cecil shot off the light in his cabin, suddenly aware of how tired he was. Even that cot will be comfortable tonight. He thought. Before retiring, he wanted a cigarette. He gazed out the window to make sure the coast was clear, saw nothing out of the ordinary. Deadshot didn't find the place yet, and with his boss dead, the order was over. Maybe I can buy a contract from him; he thought. I can always use another hitter.

Out of habit, Cecil stepped outside for is smoke. Dad always hated smoking in the cabin. He lit up, took a drag, and exhaled with an overwhelming sense of relief. As he was savoring the smoke and the nicotine, he heard a faint '_pfft' _and felt a sharp pain in his forehead. Before he had the chance to figure out he was shot, he dead, face first on the stoop.

Floyd Lawton stepped out of the woods, his wrist blasters still smoking as he made his way towards the stoop.

"Too easy," he muttered as he shook his head and stamped out the cigarette. Stepping over the body, he went inside to find something to weigh down the body with. In the corner there were at least two dozen gold bars. No use trying to take them, that would be stupid, he thought. But they can be used. He also saw a large amount of gold coins, some of them rare collectibles; very valuable. He took some of those, and stuffed as many bars as he could into the pockets of Cecil's suit.

Once done with that, he dragged the body around back to dump it into the Bayou. Satisfied that it had sunken deep enough, he contacted Penguin to let him know the job was done.

Epilogue:

"We are live at the scene in front of the Iceberg Lounge as Gotham Police are securing the area for investigation after a man was seen falling from the rooftop across the street," Vickie Vale announced in somber tones on the television screen. "Police are refusing to engage with the press at this time, but some witnesses have indicated that the man who fell was indeed a police officer, and have speculated that he must have been in pursuit of the Catwoman, whom they claim they had also seen on the building..."

...Black Mask sneered under his mask. The sniper that Gold hired blew it. The only bright point in this was that the crowd there was making a cover story for him, and didn't even know it. In all likelihood, Cobblepot's next move would be to use the Cat angle to his advantage; to underscore the threat these masked vigilante types truly present in order to add to his class action case. That was the smart play. As for himself, the smart play was to back off for now, let the Penguin think he's won while gaining ground under the radar...

...Selena Kyle shut off the television and tossed the remote onto a coffee table. She shucked off her outfit and headed to the shower. I let that man die. She thought as the warm needles of water rained down on her bare skin, masking her tears. He's dead because I failed to save him. True; her effort bought her a pass from Nightwing or whatever he called himself now, but she wasn't sure she deserved it. As she tried to rinse the night off of herself, she began to wonder if it was time to retire the Cat...

"...We do have confirmation, however, that man who fell is still alive, but in such a state that he is unable to comment on the events that led to his fall..." Vickie Vale went on.

"Can you turn that off, please?" Dick Grayson requested.

"With pleasure, sir," Alfred replied as he clicked the remote to shut the television off. "It's such dreadful news, anyway."

"Inaccurate," Dick added. "She was trying to save him, even though the guy was trying to kill Penguin."

"If it is all the same to you, Master Richard," Alfred said, "I would rather be spared any sordid details for now."

"Fair enough," Dick said. He noted Alfred seemed especially glum tonight. That could not be a good sign. "So how is he?"

"Master Bruce has always been fit, and is working in his favor, sir," Alfred replied. "His bruises have healed nicely, as are his bone injuries. The internal injuries are still causing some trouble, but what concerns me most is the concussion."

Dick nodded. He headed up the stairs to Bruce's room. In the background of his thoughts he heard himself reply to Alfred that yes, it would be fine if he prepared a room for him; and yes, his old room would do...

_Harley's notes_

_"Mar 17 still: _

_Even though Talia has become my BFF, I decided not to show her my notes, especially since some of them might rat out Mr J. Just because I see now how the system screwed him over like it has been trying to do to me, doesn't mean I can't have some ethics. Mr J has a right to privacy and what we talk about is just between us. Soon enough, I'm going to get him out of that place and the two of us are going to be together someplace nice where we can live by our own ideals. It's going to be our own private paradise!_


End file.
